Old Souls
by patricia.pc
Summary: He died trying to save the universe... thousands of years in the future. Now he's back in his reincarnation of 1926. Meet Charles, one of the many reincarnations of Harry Potter. He comes to 1930 with big plans, none that involved Tom Riddle.
1. Chapter 1: Being Dead

Title: Old Souls

Rated T/M

Disclaimer: I (regretfully) do not own Harry Potter in any way, shape or form. If you recognize any other influence (Tv, book, radio, etc.) I will gladly admit it's not mine either.

_Summary_

_He died trying to save the universe... thousands of years in the future. Now he's back in his reincarnation of 1926. Meet Charles, one of the many reincarnations of Harry Potter. He comes to 1930 with Big Plans, none that involved Tom Riddle._

**Chapter 1: Being Dead**

"I died. At least, I'm pretty sure I died." He murmured into the nothingness. The fact that he _could_ murmur was the unsettling part.

"You did, my friend." A voice he recognized told him.

"Jake? You died? ... So I was not successful?"

"You were. Thanks to your sacrifice we lived five years before everything we ever knew was destroyed. There was no way to stop it, that plan was made more than 4,000 years ago. You manage to give us some time, enough to manage this." Jake said

"What is _this_ exactly?" He concentrated and realized that he could see. He was on the Grand Hall, the meeting place of all sentient beings back home. But it wasn't the busy, colorful and nosy place of his childhood or the destroyed place from adulthood after the last Great War. Instead it was in all its former greatness but eerie white, silent and apparently empty, with the exception of him and Jake.

"Where are we? And why are we here? If this is the afterlife the ancient mortals used to preach, it's not living up to its reputation... No offense Jake."

Jake smiled "None taken. To answer you, I have no idea where we are. Really. Don't look at me that way. I have seen this place only in books; it was destroyed before I was born. You chose this place, I suppose, because it's familiar to you and it's associated to good, safe, memories. Why are we here... is more complicated. A year after you...left."

He interrupted, "You can say it Jake, after I died. I'm proud of what I did. It gave the others more time to live, even if it was useless in the end." He said bitterly.

"Well" Jake continued, "after you died we figured anything and everything we did would be useless. Everything was set in motion and we couldn't stop it, the energy was too great and the momentum was set. We would have needed a source of energy bigger to counter it or a way to suck its energy. Both options were impossible, as you know. The people, if you can call them that, that did it knew what they were doing and used the wars to divert the attention so that when we noticed something was terribly wrong, it would have been way too late to do something other than wait for the final moment."

"So everything was useless then? All died?" He asked uncertain.

"No. Everything was _not _useless. You should know better than to think your daughter would have let your sacrifice be in vain," Jake said with a fond smile

"You loved her didn't you?" He gave him a knowing and suspicious look.

"Everyone loved her, she made it difficult not to," Jake said with a shrug, "It was her brilliance and love of history that manage to make a 'if everything else fails plan'. The year after you died she buried herself in books, we thought it was her way of coping, and in a way, it also was. It was not a strange sight to see her at all hours on a random table or floor with four books and her journal. After a successful break in of the Archianova library on the planet Earth she found a book that change everything." Jake explained.

"Wait! You went to Earth? How in the stars did you manage that?" he said, shock clearly on his voice.

"We found some old maps on a destroyed ship and the years, and lack of human population, were kind to her. We found only 60% of polluted air and only 40% of the waters dead. If the universe would have lasted longer we might have been able to go back..." Jake stayed in silence for a moment in contemplation.

"We strayed off topic, go back to the book"

"Ah, yes, the book. To tell you the truth I did not believed a word of it but we were so desperate that any plan, any idea that gave hope was given a chance... and I couldn't deny Sophie. If she though it could work it was good enough for the rest of us. And given that we are talking, I guess she was right after all."

"W-why is she not here?"

Jake looked at him sadly and said, "She couldn't, she didn't qualify. Apparently some souls, spirits, whatever you want to call it, are re-born again and again. The book called them Old Souls and they, apparently, are usually responsible for mayor history events. They are people who are strong or powerful or charismatic or something that makes them stand out, be heard and influence history in some way or another. The earthling that wrote the book remembered every life that he had lived and some of the people he suspected to also be an old soul." Jake looked down and had a pained expression, took a deep breath and continued "Sophie, being the brilliant girl she is, managed to track in history all of our past lifetimes and ..."

"Jake, What are you not telling me? ... What did she do?"

_flashback_

"Sophie has gone missing, Sir." a tall blond man in a dark gray uniform said.

"Are you sure? Have you cheeked all her usual places? The kitchen?" Jake responded with a tired voice. This was not the first time Sophie left her duties unattended because she lost track of time because one of her 'discoveries'. He could almost hear her voice saying 'But Jake this could change everything! Maybe this is the answer' and of course he would look at her big hopeful eyes and forgive her.

"I have done so, sir. The last place someone saw her was close to the Demon Ritual Chambers of Sector five, but of course nobody can enter there without your permission."

Jake suddenly looked alert "Thanks soldier, get back to your duties, I'm sure she is in some corner reading a book and just forgot to check the panel."

"All right, sir."

Jake calmly walked off the main control center and took off running after he was far from anyone else. '_No need to panic the people, I'm sure she is ok and there is nothing to worry about.'_

When he got near the ritual chambers he saw one door open and warily approached it hoping to whatever might hear him that Sophie will not be there. She was a smart girl; she knows how dangerous it is. She will _not_ be there. She will _not_.

When he got to the door he saw her. On the floor. Covered with blood. On a rune circle.

"Sophie... What have you _done_?"

_end of flashback_

"She did a demon rune circle. Traded her magic for the knowledge of all our lifetimes. After that she only lived two more years. You know one cannot live long without your magic, the body is too used to it, it doesn't know how to survive without it anymore." Jake stopped, took a deep breath and continued.

"She lived long enough to determine which lifetime could have made the more difference. Out of the 50,000 of the last sentient beings, only 14 were considered 'old souls'. Out of those 14 only 8 had potential to change the outcome. Surprisingly those 8 were born in a time where a small change could have been enough to stop the end. Unsurprisingly those 8 died young. We think they were murdered to ensure they could not change anything, which included you and me. She calculated that by 'going back' in a sense, we could stop it. Of course one cannot go back that far in time and inhabit a body that is currently occupied, even if it is by yourself. She died before we manage to figure something out. One of the eight, I'm sure you remember, Nathan, the weird son of your second ex-wife, figured the last part. As it turns out, he was not weird for the sake of being weird like you and Afron always thought. He remembered some of his past lives and sometimes confused his current life with some past one. His method was actually really simple, so simple that... I actually thought that this was _really_ the end. Each of us, pardon the expression, is a freak of nature. For some reason we do not follow the 'rules' and instead of following the normal order and become part of the universe after we die, we come back intact, whole, in a new body. With our past experiences buried but not lost." Jake explained

He mourned the death of his beautiful daughter, but he could not deal with that now, it was best to not think about it. He tried to understand all the information and all it's consequences "I'm trying to follow you, I really am..."

"I do not judge you in the least, I still don't understand it and I'm only beginning to believe it and I had some years to study it and become somewhat used to it" Jake said.

"So what do we do now? What can be done? And where are the others?" He said in one breath.

"I'm guessing the others are already there, waiting for us. I was in charge of telling you and guiding you. For some odd reason they thought I would be better for the job. I tried to tell them you would prefer a beautiful mortal woman with a bottle of alcohol in her arms. But they thought I was joking." Jake said

He smiled a little, Jake knew him well "You should at least brought the alcohol, so... what do I have to do? And where are we going?"

"We are going somewhere around 1930 of the ancient calendar; it depends when you were born in that lifetime and" Here Jake paused for dramatic effect "we are going to Earth!"

For all his trouble he got an unimpressed look, Jake sighted, "This place is an in-between place, if your here is because you can choose to come back. You have been stuck here for some time because there's no new body to go back to. There's no life being born. There's nothing to go back to. But by me coming here you gained your 'self'. Nathan told us that he had to die first, somehow manage to gain his self, don't really know how he managed it, and appear to the next person that died. That was Carol and so on so forth with the eight. I am coming here for you. You are the last. Now you need to remember all your past lives in the order from your last birth to your first. This is the hard part, because you'll have to remember things you might have wished not to. I had to suffer my every childhood, puberty, being in love, and then remembering how they died, the pain of every betrayal. It was brutal. Once you finish this part you have to concentrate on the life you want to go back to and the time. We will all be arriving in different times and parts of the world because some have to be early to prevent their death and some don't want to arrive at an inconvenient moment in that life. The only thing that we will be actually doing is having all of our memories of the future lifetimes with us and the only reason we can do that is because there's no place right now to go back to. And the 'nothing can be created or destroyed' rule works in our favor." Jake said

"So how we will recognize each other? By the way, apart from you, Nathan and Carol who else is going?"

"Our best bet is our auras because we will all have different names, faces and ages. I will be somewhere in Benito Mussolini's Italy with republican parents and you will be in Nazi Germany with a Jew father. No one got it easy, let me tell you. Nathan and Carol will be in the Spanish civil war. The rest, except Afron, you did not know a lot about. Alanna, Cassandra and Dante are the other three. The good news is that they know all about you and have a sad case of hero worship, but then, everyone that knew you had a case of hero worship. Sad times we were living in. Even I admit that I missed your particular brand of sarcasm and grouchy personality in the mornings" Jake joked "I'm not sure of Cassandra or Dante, but Alanna will be in China around that time and Afron will be in France. Sophie speculated that if we stay where we are born we will die in the conflicts because chances are that no matter how hard we try we will either be pulled in to politics, be noticed by our intergalactic enemy or both. Remember they murdered us, no matter how it appears you died; they put the pieces there so that we all end up dead. The safest place we can go is London; we have a 12% probability that if we make it to London we will be relatively safe. Thing is, getting to London has a high chance of getting us killed on the way."

"Sounds optimistic... Afron is going? That's great! Dante? …The name sounds familiar." He tried to remember, he has vague memory of someone with that name "Was Dante the new recruit that spilled juice on my carpet and then trying to fix it almost burned the office? That Dante?"

Jake laughed, "Yes! that Dante. To be fair you scared the brains out of him, but later on he manage to gain everyone's respect with his genius in mechanics."

"So to be clear, the plan once we get there, to London, keep your head down and survive? Do we have to kill someone or do something more specific to change the time?"

"You have to understand that in our history is extremely rare for two of the 14 to be born some years apart. To have eight of us in the same time period, in the same galaxy, let alone the same planet, each of us capable of changing history in a dramatic way, will change everything. For some reason that time in Earth is extremely important to the bastards, that is why we think there were so many of us, why they killed us before we could ruin their plans, and why they created so many conflicts between the earth mortals. Don't get me wrong if I happen to see one of those bastards, I'll happily kill them. I'm sure most of us will, after all they caused us. I'm sorry my friend but it appears our time here is coming to an end."

He looked around and saw the edges around the Grand Hall fading. For a moment he panicked, but then remembered he already died so what more can he worry about?

"What do I have to do to remember?" He asked quickly. And for the first time Jake came closer and with his hand touched his forehead. The last he heard from Jake was "Don't fight it" and all was black again.

* * *

><p><em>It all started to play like a recording. My life. At least the last one. Born Dartamian Marcus Liander of the galaxy Alpha in sector 14. Son to the Chief Commander and a cleaning inspector, neither had permission to procreate and my birth was kept a secret. My father sent my mother to some desolate place in the galaxy, where ship thieves and humancreature selling were high. My childhood was hard, but I learned, adapted and survived. Mother was not so lucky and was killed on my tenth birthday. _

_On went the memories of my childhood, learning how to fight and defend myself. Then killing the five that were responsible for my mother's death and the 70 that were part of the particular band. Best not leave potential enemies behind was a lesson you learned early on. The stories that told of how that particular adventure went made some important people look at me and years later I was the youngest High Chief Commander. _

_My first marriage, Sophie...beautiful, baby Sophie, the wars, the deaths, the destruction, the panic, the blood, and finally knowing the universe as we know it will end. Knowing it's too late but also refusing to admit defeat and let my daughter, my people, down. The Plan. The plan that could save us. The plan that needed someone to be there until the last explosion and that it will be impossible for that person to survive it. _

_I was the leader, the only leader actually. The rest of the leaders and government of different galaxies did not survive the attacks and even if there were supposed to be other people higher than me or that I was relatively young I was made leader. By that time it did not matter if you're skin is blue, you have no skin or eat fire, it was a common enemy and old wars were forgotten. My people loved me, the rest respected me, but all trusted me with their lives so it was my responsibility, my honor and pleasure to make the last stand. At least I'll go with a bang. And finally my death on the 12 cycle of the moon on the 5783 of the turn of the star named sun following the ancient Earth calendar._

_And on went the lives I had lived. Hundreds of lives. In most I was a mortal man living in space, in a few I was a women, in rare cases I was another race, in another planet, in some distant corner of the universe were they didn't even know of mortals._

_Something I learned is that being some great hero is not so great for the hero. Almost all of the lives where I am some kind of 'hero' it means I had a really crappy childhood, die young, alone and without ever really experiencing life and everyone trying to manipulate me in some way. And in the ones were I am some kind of dark lord/king/dictator/ruler I live a long full life. Such are the ironies of life... of course the assassination attempts do get old and tiring. To be fair I was never really evil. Ruthless, bloody and short tempered, maybe. But the victors write history as they say, so after I won and the people were happy, healthy, wealthy and safe, I was remembered as the greatest thing that could have happened to the planet or sometimes galaxy. If I lost I was the worst thing that almost happened but the good people of the government saved the people._

_I get to live on Earth, but it's polluted, there's no water and radiation is killing us. Those that had the money went to live on space. My family was middle class. Further back I get to re-experience the star they call sun and to look up and see blue, look down and feel grass, trees that are not for food, forests, snow, vampires, goblins, werewolf's, so many things that were lost in the future._

_Getting to a lifetime that is close to the intended date I pay extra attention. Harry James Potter, 1980, no, is still too far. Jake said around 1930's._

_My life as Harry starts bad, with an assassination attempt even before I can make full sentences. Lily Evans reminds me of my Sophie she did a demon rune blood circle and traded her life for my survival. When I see her soul leaving the body of Lily, I know I will see my daughter again after all. Even if I have to wait some 30 years. This life keeps getting worse with my mother's sister. Is not the worse childhood I had, but it stills sucks. After that with a self-called 'Dark lord' terrorizing a small community of magical people things don't get easier._

_After seeing some of my lifetimes of being Supreme Ruler, King, Overlord or Dictator, I am not impressed. The so called 'magical world' that was really just a small community with illusions of grandeur hiding behind my underfed and skinny ass was really not warming me up to them either. With the supposed grandfatherly figure planning my death, hiding facts, and generally being a manipulative and stupid old man was really irritating._ _Got to give him my grudging respect for being a master planer but still, he leaves much to be desired as a leader. His black and white frame of mind would have caused him a lot of trouble in my time. But sadly, I can't blame it all on other people, even him. I should have studied more, practiced more, and generally learned more about the world I was living. _

_In one of the memories something about the red cat eyes and insane manner of Riddle makes me think that the bastards infested him. I have seen it done before after all and the way the prophecy conveniently points at me makes me think the bastards created (or guided) a mad dog and then pointed at my general direction. Have to think on it later, maybe there was some important clue about the time or place_.

_I could have done so many things, change so much if only. But that's the story about most of my lives. If only I would have. If only I wouldn't have. I like to think that with each lifetime I'm more competent, more decisive, make better choices, but that's just my personal opinion. Some would be of the opinion that ruling your own planet and/or galaxy is a big no-no. Being a hero is overrated anyway. _

_As Harry I didn't even get to see a different country or have sex until I was married. Things don't get better in my next lifetime. I was born Louis Pierr to a poor French family in 1956 and died of an infection in 1961. Five years. I only lived five years._

_Well there goes the theory that I'm some super powerful, all knowing and indestructible being. I can die just as easily as the next baby. The fact that I have the potential to do something apparently doesn't mean I will. The only difference is that I will not be part of the natural flow of energy after I 'die'. _

_That's...disappointing to tell you the truth, I was kind of hopping for some extra especial advantage over the bloody bastards that planned the end of the universe. And just to have enough energy out of the destruction to build their own universe. Selfish bloody bastards. Considering that epiphany I guess I did a pretty good job as Harry. I was a normal kid after all._

_Next is my intended life. Charles Gustav, no last name, born in Germany 1926. Second child of a one fourths veela mother that was disinherited by her family for being 'ugly with no magical powers' and a squib Jew father. Abigael or Abby as we called her, my older sister by two years. She got more of the veela heritage. With my mother's blonde hair, perfect skin and my father's soft brown eyes, she made a beautiful picture. Not veela perfect, but in a sea of normal's she was breath taking. She also had slight mental problems, nothing incapacitating, she just acted a few years younger than she was. _

_I think that being part veela helped her a little. My family lived in the country, mostly because of necessity. My sister could not control her allure and did not understand that people wanted to harm her. My mother also had panic attacks when in public. My mother, Annabelle, was cast out of her family at 16. Being 1/4 veela meant she had plain blonde hair, weak allure, her father's green eyes, could not change and overall was fairly normal_ _to them. This made her a target to the others. Of course this still meant she was beautiful, even more so if you ask me. _

_It was her imperfections that I loved. Her dimples, beauty marks, slightly round face, petite frame, really curly hair and her too plumb limps that made her stand out, be unique. Her parents mostly shielded her from the others cruelness. After her fall out with her family that came with the death of her parents, she moved to Germany. Shortly after her arrival a band of boys tried or did rape her; I was never told exactly what happened. My father's mother saved her. Grandma told me she never really got over the experience. _

_My father had to be her friend for two years before she could be in a room alone with him. Three years dating before she consented to marry him and four before my sister was born. I have always though my father would have calmly waited his whole life for her. He was a good man and better father. Frank, he was the son of a squib and a squib himself. They never saw the need to invent a last name for themselves._

_We had a pretty good life until I was about eight. I'm guessing we lasted that long because we were pretty far away from most towns and not many people knew about us. My father and me were sent to concentration camps. I now understand Jake, I would have preferred more than anything not to remember. My father died and I escaped using luck and magic. Traumatized, I when looking for the rest of my family. Years later I found out that when they tried to use my mother and sister as prostitutes my mother killed Abby and then killed herself. Not before setting the place on fire, killing hundreds._

_When I started to get into politics, naively thinking I could prevent this from ever happening, someone broke into my apartment and killed me. Last thing I saw was red eyes and blond hair._

_Without mercy the memories continue. I have not reached the first. Curiously my first life was as a Spartan. A good hardworking life of a warrior. I died when I lead a few hundred to an ambush of an army before they could reach our land. _

Now the next part. I want to be Charles in the summer of 1931, four years before everything went downhill. I was four, Abby was celebrating her seventh birthday and mother was teaching us to play the piano and the violin. The summer Abby tried to 'save' a baby horse and father got hurt trying to get her out of the mother's way.

That summer.

Anytime now.

Maybe I have to do something else? Try harder? Be more specific? Ok then. The day early summer where mother asked me what second language I wanted to learn.

**Edited by Timewhisper, March 1, 2012 **


	2. Chapter 2: Being Charles

_**Chapter 2: Being Charles**_

It was early morning and the sun was at his back, his family was in the kitchen table and Abby didn't want to eat. Father was trying to convince her that to have her cake later on she must eat proper food now.

"Your mother worked so very hard to make that cake, you don't want to disappoint her do you?" Abby looked at her mother with big brown tearful eyes, afraid that she had made her mother sad and said "N-no, of course I don't want to, I'll eat. I'll be good."

His mother looked at him and asked, "Since you have already learned proper German. What second language interests you? You'll be five this winter but you are so very smart so I have no doubt that you can." She looked at him lovingly with an adoring and proud glint in her eye.

Suddenly he was at the table. It was not a memory anymore. He could feel the heat of the sun in his back, the smooth surface of the wood table that his father made and he could smell the food.

He was back, it worked! Like a dying man he hungrily looked at the beautiful face of his mother. Curly, unmanageable blonde hair, light green eyes and rounded face, just as he remembered her. Then he looked at the young, happy and... _healthy_ face of his father and most importantly the full of food face of his big sister.

He missed her most of all. For many years he wondered with fear what happened to her, the pain and confusion she must have gone through not knowing why they were not there and why people were hurting her. He quickly excused himself and went to his room on the second floor, found a bucket and promptly threw up all the food.

"Honey, are you alright? Did something not agree with you?" His mother sat beside him on the floor at the foot of his bed and touched his forehead with a worried frown. He tried to tell her that he was all right and that there was nothing wrong but he couldn't lie. There was something wrong. There were a lot of thing's that were wrong and he felt like crap.

He must have fallen asleep because he was dreaming, more like having horrific nightmares, of all the awful things that has happened to him but they were distorted.

_Somehow Sophie was at the concentration camp with him and she is only eight. A beast of a man was raping Abby and he tried to get to her but no matter how hard he fights or runs she was always out of his reach. He kept hearing her screams, her cries, her pleads and he just can't reach her. _

_He came home on his tenth birthday and mommy was in the floor and her head was not with her. Fights and battles and why is Lily here with him? She should be safe somewhere, anywhere, not here. He's running but he doesn't remember why, he just keeps running and running with the absolute knowledge that if he stops everything will be dead._

Charles suddenly woke up and relief almost blinded him. It was all a nightmare. All a nightmare. Abby was safe, sleeping in her bedroom most likely. Sophie will be ok and he hasn't failed _yet_.

He must have slept a while, it was already night and his mother was sleeping on a chair besides the bed. She must have been very worried. His small body was shaking and cold. He knew what was wrong. This body, this brain, was not meant to have so much information. That's why we forget must of the unimportant details of our daily lives. Too much information is detrimental and too many horrible memories will drive him to suicide.

First things first, a bath, clean clothes, something to eat and then, only then, do something about the overflowing brain. Getting out of bed proved to be a difficult affair and he awoke Annabelle in the process. "Baby, your awake! How are you feeling?" She asked worriedly, fretting with his sheets.

"I'm fine mom. For how long was I asleep?" He managed to squeak. _Wow, hearing myself speak like __a child after remembering being a man is surreal._

"You have been asleep for two days. You have been having nightmares, screaming and talking..."

Dread, pure dread filled me "...talking? What have I said?"

"We will talk about it later. Are you hungry?"

**2 weeks later, Summer of 1931**

Charles was sitting under a tree, the sun was beautiful and his sister was close by, playing with her dolls but he couldn't see it, couldn't hear it, because he was in a deep meditation trance. Inside his head was an enormous library that didn't seem to have an end. It had two floors, each with floor to ceiling bookshelves and stairs to get to the upper levels. Every series of encyclopedia-like row of books in the same color was a different life. It took him a few tries to get in a meditate state and a few more to create a place that best represented his mind, books to represent a life seemed like the obvious choice. There was a huge fireplace and a comfy sofa where he was currently lounging. The book in his hand was thrown carelessly into the fireplace and he grabbed another one from a big pile at his side.

He has developed a system over time. Everything from Earth potentially stays, everything from lives as a different species of out of space gets a side note, and useless things like how to cook the perfect dish of a galactic being that he's never going to meet in this lifetime gets burned. The side notes of being an alien (using the words he's relearning) usually consist in the name of the planet, galaxy, how to get there, name and some basic information. He doubts he's going to need even that little but it just doesn't feel right just forgetting all about a place one loved or a family he had.

Feels disrespectful, somehow. But it was already time to get out of here; he cannot leave his sister alone for long periods of time. This will be the work of months if not years, but it was getting better with each time. The headaches were not as constant, the blackouts have gone and the vomiting was only weekly now. It has been two weeks since he came here and he knew his mother wanted to talk to him but thankfully, she understood that he was not ready to talk yet.

"Abby let's play the pretend game again!" This was a new game he was teaching her. _Lets pretend we are traveling and need to be serious. Let's pretend we are on the run and have to be really quiet and stealthy. Lets pretend is you and me against the world, that means no trusting anyone, no talking with strangers, not eating anything I don't give you personally and most important hide if we are found._

He wanted her to be prepared because he will not leave her behind. They were also playing a lot of running and swimming games so that they could be in shape. This little body needed to be in shape. After some time he was going to start teaching her to throw a really hard punch and kick.

That will be the hardest, she's peaceful by nature, prefers following butterflies and 'saving' baby animals than fighting. But she was getting better at the hide and seek game. At first she chose places that didn't hide her completely, in the open and just closed her eyes. Now she was learning to spot better hiding places and be quiet and still. If all else fails, she can hide.

"Kids, its time to clean yourselves and come inside. Your lessons will begin shortly," Mother yelled from the door. Abby immediately started crying. She liked to study but hated having to stop playing. It happened every time so they were used to it and just assured her that they could continue playing tomorrow and that mommy has some caramel biscuit inside.

"Really?" She questioned and looked at Charles with her big brown eyes as if the response could change _everything._

"Yes really." Charles responded in his most sincere voice.

As always, they reviewed writing and reading in German. Then continued with the second language of their choice. Abby wanted French, as her mother, but Charles convinced her English will be more _fun_. In theory he knows English but his tongue and mouth are not used to the sounds. After a snack, both continued with instruments. Abigael was really good with the piano and he was learning violin. Annabelle was a really good teacher, she was patient and made learning fun, and with Abby 'fun' was essential.

Story time was usually a history lesson in disguise. It was the only way that Abby would sit still and listen. Some day's mother took them to the field with her so that they could learn how to grow their own food and take care of plants. She always took special care to show them what plants were not for eating or touching. Other days their father would take them to his workshop where he worked with leather, wood and metal.

Those days were few and far between because they had to be extra careful with Abby. The family sold produce and the things father made in his workshop to the closest town. They bought very little, only what was impossible for them to make. Mother grew the food, father made the furniture and even their toys were handmade.

It was a quiet, full life. Every day there was a lot to do and they had lists of chores. His most important one was keeping an eye on Abby. After chores, they played and since he 'came' here they were playing more and more survival games. Then lessons. Then help with dinner. Then make preparations for the night. Bring anything and everything that wild animals could eat or destroy. Secure all the doors and windows, light the candles, take clean sheets for the bed, so on so forth. He could count with one hand the number of outside people he had seen in this life, Abby has seen even less. But it didn't feel like they were missing out on something and usually they had little time to think of such things.

In the original timeline, even through he was magical he never got training. His incidents of accidental magic were few and far between. He guessed Durmstrang didn't invite him to go because he would have either appear as a muggleborn or a half creature; even if it is only a few drops of veela. Not even enough to make him blond. The other schools have the policy that 'if you don't leave near me you're not my problem', so they wouldn't had bothered with him.

He had really thick dark hair with light blue eyes that came from his veela great grandmother, little to no allure, and the only thing, except for the eyes, that came from the veela heritage was that he had an affinity for fire. He supposes he was handsome by normal standards but nowhere near veela standards.

Maybe when he gets to London he could study in magic. _But first I have to survive the getting out of germany nazy, without papers, with a Jew father and a mentally damaged sister_.

In his free time, when not organizing his brain, he practiced controlling his magic. In the lives he has as a mortal, after the destruction of Earth where trees for wands were extinct and dragon heartstring was a thing of ancient history, magical humans learned to control their magic without tools. It was infinitively harder but it could potentially save his family so it was worth it.

That was how his parents found him, in the kitchen, trying to make the plates fly.. Glaring at the plates for daring to disrespect _him_ (him!) and not properly flying. They hovered for a few seconds and then dropped

"Charles, really, I'm sure that plate is really sorry for whatever it has done to you." She said with an amused smile. "Your father and me also couldn't sleep. This storm is only getting stronger." She looked out the window with a worried look. "I do hope the plants survive the night. Do you want a warm cup of chocolate? It's just the thing we need for a stormy night like this." She said and looked at him with a fond smile.

"Sure mom. Sounds just about perfect." He responded. Because it really did sound lovely.

"Hey kiddo! Couldn't sleep? Should I ask why are all the plates out or just ignore it?" His father asked him, coming to the kitchen in his off-white over all pajamas, looking at the mess of plates on the table...and the broken ones on the floor.

"I'm trying to make them fly. They refuse, but eventually they will learn that _I'm_ the one in charge." Charles said, looking at the plates with a peeved expression. There was no point in denying it, what else would a child be doing in the middle of the night with a mess of plates? Cooking would worry them more.

"Does this have anything to do with the nightmares, the new games your teaching Abby and the insistence to learn English?" His ever-brilliant mother asked him. He was not even surprised she connected the dots. She was as smart as she was beautiful, a deadly combination father always said with a wide smile.

"It does." Charles said with a serious look, plates long forgotten.

"Son you know you can talk to us if something is bothering you. We are a team and we are here if you need us. Your mother and I didn't want to force you into talking if you're not ready but... we are worried about you. You have changed my son. Before the nightmares I had a happy four-year-old boy and now is like you have grown up in a second. Please talk to us, we will understand." Frank looked at him pleadingly, hoping he will trust him and his mother enough to talk. Annabelle looked at him full of love and he finally broke.

_Maybe I can tell them a part of the truth and let them think I'm a seer or something._

"I had some really bad dreams." He started "But they were not dreams, not exactly, they were things that will come to pass in some years... some really bad things."

"Dreams of the future? How can that be possible?" His mother looked distressed... the family has no seer blood. _But hey, in every family there has to be first, right?_

"Continue Charles, What did you See?" Frank gently prodded.

"I was eight, Abby was eleven we were playing in the back when Nazi soldiers came to our house...They took father and me to a concentration camp... please don't make me say what happened." He looked at them tearfully because he really can't tell them all the horrors he lived in that place. _I can't burden them with those horrors. I wont._

"Soldiers? But...But things can't get that bad that fast. They haven't been building an army, at least..." Annabelle weakly tried to convince him and herself but she knew people could be monsters. She has enough proof in her scars.

"Not yet. But they will and it will be of hundred thousands." Charles responded with a pained face, hoping they will believe him and take him seriously because how else can he get them to move?

"Are you telling me a war is coming?" Frank asked with a surprised and fearful look.

"World War II." He stated solemnly

His father took his mother's hand and after a moment they both went to Charles and hugged him. They remember enough of the first war; it only finished on 1919 after all. It was too soon to face those horrors again. The explosions, the broken city, the dead bodies...the poverty.

"We have been given a warning and we will take it seriously. I'm just so sorry you had to see all of that. You're mother and me, we…we will start making plans. We thought that being far away from civilization will have protected us but being extra safe in another country might be wiser. Better safe than sorry as they say. Now go back to your room and try to forget, we will protect you kids. You have nothing to worry about."

"All right father. Goodnight mama."

"Goodnight baby." Hi mother said sweetly, kissing him on the cheek.

As he left he could hear the heartbreaking sobs of his mother and his father's quiet assurances that everything will be all right. He quietly sat on the stairs to listen.

"He's a baby. He shouldn't be having visions of our death and-and our torture." His mother said in broken voice.

"He didn't say anything about death and torture Annabelle." Frank tried to appease her.

"Frank did you see his eyes? _Did you?_ He saw death, torture and unspeakable things. I know it! What do you think will happen if they take Abby when she is bigger?" His mother stopped talking and just continued crying it was a horrifying thought. Charles sighed, got up and went to his room. They were too distressed to make plans tonight.

**February 1932**

"Father can you teach me to work with wood?" Charles asked as he watched his father work. He wanted to learn useful skills that could help him later.

His father stopped working with the chair he was half way making and cleaned his hands in using an old towel, "Sure. If you're willing to get up at sunrise everyday." Frank said with a knowing smile.

"Why at sunrise?" Charles asked with a pained look. He was _not _an early riser. He really was not. Never have been. Never will be. Jake could attest to that.

"Abby." His father said simply, like it explained everything. It really did. He was Abby's only playmate and his mother was busy in the evenings with the plants and father with his workshop so he had look out after Abby in the evenings. At sunrise Abby was asleep and will continue to sleep until eight or nine, depending on when Annabelle woke her.

At first he only did carvings. Getting a feel of the wood and the tools. His small hands having a hard time with coordination. His father made him memorize by name, touch and description all the different kinds of wood and what instruments were better to use depending on the type of wood and the work he wanted to accomplish. His first carving was of a horse, Abby's favorite animal. It could have been a dog, a cat or an elephant really. Still, she had been really happy of her new toy.

After making a few decent eagles, horses, wolfs and serpents he got promoted to doing toy swords. He will admit he went a _little_ overboard with the swords but just thinking of how amazing it will be if he can successfully transfigure the wood into metal got him working full time. Perfectly balanced, light but strong, pretty but practical, easy grip, not too short not too long, wickedly sharp and a good sword was born. After that he tried his hand on houses. He started with small models and continued making bigger ones. Abby was ecstatic with her new dollhouses.

His father was also impressed with his dedication, but after The Talk he never asked why he was obsessed with some things, like learning English, running, swimming, teaching Abby how to hide or fight.

His parents were working extra hard in selling everything they could, even the wood toys he was making got sold. To get out they will need money and lots of it. They couldn't take anything with them and the government was not letting people leave without paying a year of taxes in advance and in the future they will not even be letting Jews leave.

His fifth birthday in November eleven came and went as always, with a small cake of his choice, some new toys his father made and new clothes his mother knitted. Winter was hard that year and spring came as a welcome relief for all. He mastered the violin that summer with the help of future memories and started on piano. Abby was doing great with English. She now knew the basics. In summer he had a breakthrough on his magic. Doing his usual cleaning and organizing of his mind he found a life where he had been a magical mortal with no wand.

They called it the 'command'. Magic users in this time used their mind, voice and wand as a unity to command the magic in their bodies. Your voice is only important because of the deep connection between the sound and your mind. When you hear 'cat' you imagine a cat, when you hear a command like 'come here' you know exactly what you have to do. But someone might be mute, deaf or both and still could do magic. So it's only the mind commanding your magic like it does with every other muscle. The wand is forcing the magic to come, like a string forcing a muscle to move. Understanding this did not mean he suddenly could do all magic. He was barely managing to transfigure a stick into metal but he now knew what to do. He had to go into a different meditate state, one where he was completely conscious of his breath, his heart, his body, his everything so he could feel his magic, know how it travels trough his body.

After his sixth birthday he could feel his magic while he was awake, it was like being conscious of your every breath without letting it get in the way of doing other things. It's difficult to describe, like counting till 10,000 while walking and talking simultaneously without missing the next number. At first you could do it if you try really hard and then it becomes second nature.

But he was starting to feel restless, it will happen soon. His parents noted his jumpiness, his sleepless nights, the nightmares and started working even more, looking for buyers for the house and field. Everything that was not needed for the daily life got sold.

"We should start to make plans." He said one evening when it was just the three of them. Abby was sleeping.

"Your mother and I have been making plans but it's difficult. We have no papers, no surname and no one we can trust... I have not heard from my family. The neighbors told me that they suddenly left." His father said worriedly.

"We have to prepare two bags with money and everything we want to take so that if we need to leave in a moments notice. There's the underground storage that is in the forest, nobody knows its there and if they come we can hide there. We should also make a plan if we get separated. I think we should all meet in London if we get separated." He calmly stated.

"We are not getting separated!" Annabelle yelled, she looked utterly infuriated at the idea.

"Why London?" His father questioned at the same time.

"London is where I need to be." He said and thankfully they don't question him. They assume his knowledge was from his Seer powers. "And you cannot promise we wont be separated. Last time we never saw each other again."

That quickly killed any objection to making plans if for some reason they separate.

"I can make something so that if someone is coming down the road a bell will sound. That will hopefully give us enough time to hide." Frank said, taking their minds out of the horrific possibility of never seeing each other again.

"We can't hide inside the house." Charles quickly said, remembering what happened last time. At their questioning gaze he added with a grimace, "They will burn it."

He continued, knowing they must talk about this, no matter how hard it was. "One bag will be hidden in the east and another out back. If you hear the bell you must take the bag and run to the underground, even if we are not with you. I will make sure Abby is safe and we will meet in London."

"No! We will all go to the underground and travel together. Charles you're only six and your sister is eight!" Annabelle said with a determined face, preparing herself for a long fight. She was not going to leave her children behind and that was final!

"Mother you have to trust me! Each different version I have seen that we survive I go with Abby and you go with dad. It's the only way." And it was true, he had been playing with divination to give more credit to his 'Seer power' and to his surprise he really had seen the possibilities. "If we stay together we will be found out." He doesn't mention the killed, tortured, raped, suicide part but they get it. What he also doesn't add is that they will not see each other for years, possibly decades. It was not a happy thought, but they _will_ see each other again.

"We still have a few months. Hopefully we will be out of here together soon." Father said calmly, trying to forestall a fight. Both his wife and his son were equally stubborn.

Charles wished he could believe him. The rough plan was to cross to Belgium continue to France and cross the English Channel and from Dover go to London. They made maps with as much information as they could gather from their personal library, which was not much.

A few nights later Charles could still hear them arguing. Even Abby has noticed the tense atmosphere and asked about it.

"They are just children Frank! We can't let them run around the country alone! You know how Abby gets when she is confused and for all his maturity Charles is still a baby!" They were in the kitchen, arguing again. It was always the same argument.

"Annabelle we are not going to abandon them. We will try to get out as a family but Charles already Saw us dying that way. As much as it pains me I prefer to say a temporary goodbye and meet them safe and sound in London." Frank sighed and rubbed his eyes, "I know it sounds horrible, we have never been apart but I'm scared Anna. I have not heard from my family and it's been more than a year. People are going missing left and right. Jews, pagans, homosexuals, liberals, deaf, mutes and people with 'heritable illness' are all being taken away. Things are getting worse and everyone is afraid. We HAVE to get out. I want my family safe and we were given a chance with Charles vision." Frank said with determination.

His job was to protect his family and he will do it at whatever cost. He has seen Charles practice his divination and knew it was the truth. They will die if they stayed together. So somehow, even if it kills them as parents, they will have to let them cross to London alone. Hoping, praying, they will make it and that some day they will see them again.

"They are my babies," His mother sobbed brokenly.

"We will survive this Anna and become a stronger family because it. Charles knows he'll make it with Abby, he Saw himself in London. We just have to be strong and get there also."


	3. Chapter 3: Getting Out

**Chapter 3: Getting Out**

**April 1933**

They came sooner than he could have ever imagined. Not even his most pessimist estimations accounted for them arriving this early. It seemed that his theory that _They_ knew something had changed the balance was right and they had moved his death years sooner. How could they have known and how much they knew was still unknown.

When the bell sounded Annabelle was inside organizing all the boxes that were soon to be sold and Frank was in the workshop doing his last big project before they were supposed to go. Thankfully Abby was with him, they had been playing close to the east bag. Not on accident of course, he had stayed near the bag ever since they had put it there. The moment he heard the innocent sound he grabbed Abby and ran for all he was worth trough the dense forest that surrounded the house.

They had little time; the bell was relatively close to the house because any farther and they would have risked the possibility of not hearing it. By now Abby was used to the games were he takes her running in the forest and she has to be extra quiet. But she was still tense, as if sensing that this time it was not a game. A rock in his pocket vibrated; at least he knew that his parents had made it to the underground space.

If they can make it to the mountains they will be safe. He knew they will burn the house and that the fire will spread to the forest so they had to make it at a run.

His parents will have to wait out the fire and then continue to the next town, without actually entering the town in case they have someone watching out for them. They elected to travel in different directions to make it difficult to chase them all. They were looking for family of four, being separated would make them harder to identify. There was also the fact that not many people have seen their faces. It gave them a good chance of getting out of this alive.

They stopped only when they reached a high enough place in the nearest mountain. They looked back to see most of the forest and their house on fire. A big cloud of smoke covered the skies. Abby started crying, and even though he knew it was going to happen, had seen it happen, he felt like crying too.

"W-where's mommy and-and da-daddy?" Abby sobbed, holding his hand with enough force to crush it. He did not let go of her but brought her closer to a hug.

"They're safe. We have to continue alone but they will meet us in London." She looked miserable and confused but her eyes shone with trust. She knew he would not lie to her and even if she didn't understand what was happening she trusted him. Charles quickly found the cave he had already prepared with blankets, clothes and dry food for a month.

He took out a few blankets and made a makeshift bed for them. He helped Abby change into dry, clean clothes and used his magic so that she had a dreamless sleep. After that he walked back, sat on a rock and stayed watching the fire burn his home, his life, and all he has known since birth. He thought of another time, a time were a bell hadn't sounded. When the fire stopped he went to sleep. The smell of smoke lingered the whole night.

After a few days in the wild he was ready to kill himself or set the forest on fire. He was leaning on burning the whole thing. Things were not working out for them as he had hoped and they were almost always lost. So after a few hours watching the cars on the road he chose one to give them a ride in the right direction. After a few hours on the car they got out and slept in the woods. He did not trust to stay the night with strangers. They did this for a few days, choosing always a non-official car with only women. Some gave them a ride for free; others asked a small change, thinking they wouldn't have much. Charles told Abby that the game they were playing was travelers and that points were taken for talking to strangers. Some days they stayed in small towns, took a much-needed bath in an inn and slept in the same room.

**June 1933**

After the first town Charles started casting weak _notice-me-not_'s, just enough so that people would not think a lot about them. When they were getting close to a border that had guards checking papers they had to hike for a few days until they passed the border and then continued taking cars.

Just in case, the drivers 'forgot' about them afterward. Their luck ran one night when they were staying in a medium sized town eating at the local inn. Abby was making a fuss about eating the vegetables she did not recognize and her allure flashed in her moment of anger. The second it happened he realized there will trouble; people were already staring at them. Two officers of the Nazi party came to their table. It was 1933, Hitler was not Chancellor yet but his people and power was strong.

"Can you both show us your identification and tell us the reason of your traveling?" One of them asked with a serious expression. Both were blond with blue eyes, one was handsome and the other was rather plain but with an evil glint in his eyes that made people wary around him.

"I'm sorry sir. Our parents have our identifications and we are traveling with them to meet our grandparents." he lied effortlessly in child-like innocence.

"Please accompany us to the office. We cannot have unidentified children wandering around."

_Damn! They must want us for unsavory reasons. After all, it is not unreasonable that a six and nine year old to be without identification if they are not with their parents. But I can't deny him here or charm him to forget. There are too many people watching._

"Of course sir." He responded meekly. Abby by now knew not to talk and just stayed silently by his side with her head down.

The guards led them to a small house on the outskirts of town. On the whole way he was making plans and discarding them just as fast. As they approached the house the one on his back hit him on the head with the back of his gun and Charles blacked out. When he woke up they were just throwing him on the floor, so thankfully, it seemed he was out only a few minutes. One of them was tying Abby to a chair and the other was tying his hands with a strong, coarse rope.

After he finished tying his hands tightly, he hit Charles again with the gun and he was out again. The next time he awoke he knew it has been longer because he didn't have his shirt on and Abby was sobbing without most of her clothes. Blind fury almost made him lose control of his magic, but knowing that he could potentially kill everyone, including himself and his sister, on a wild bust of savage magic, made him breathe deeply and gain tight control of his magic.

In the corner of his eye he saw one of them, the handsome one, was putting a hot stick with the David's star on the fire. Before he had time to react or even understand the situation, the other held him on his back while the handsome one branded his back.

_And it hurt!_ He almost fainted out of pain again, the prospect of not feeling the pain was tempting, but he cannot leave Abby to these beasts no matter how easy it would be to pass out.

He does the easiest magic he can control and burns the ropes on his wrist. They hurt like hell, the smell of burnt skin was heavy in the air but he no longer had the ropes binding his hands. The only thing running through his mind was that he needed to get Abby out of here _NOW!_

Closest to him was a desk. He threw himself at it and grabbed all pencils he saw. Grabbing Abby and pushing her behind the desk takes all the spare seconds he had won by surprising them in burning the ropes. All the pencils in his hand are transfigured to metal; they still look like pencils but they are solid metal.

"Abby, baby, close your eyes and sing." Abby started singing a song mom used to sing to them while tears ran across her face. It was something about mountains and butterflies; he never paid much attention to it.

_No need for Abby to see or hear what was about to happen._

This must be a new record, two kills at the age of six (soon to be seven in winter). He dragged the bodies to a closet and checked the place. In the desk he found papers of about eleven other people. He should have prolonged their suffering.

_Oh well, no use crying over dead bodies now._

With a little creativity and magic they have all the papers they need so that they wont be stopped in the borders. Those papers probably has saved them months, probably years, of trying to get out of countries without getting stopped by the authorities.

He quickly got Abby out of there and led her to the woods. No more people tonight. He has had enough of their cruelty for one night. Abby was sobbing about breaking the silence rule and telling the bad men that yes, her father was Jewish.

Charles told her repeatedly that it wasn't her fault that she did well and he was proud of her. He asked her to tell him if they touched her in a bad way. She said no. He thanked the gods for small favors. He helped Abby put clean clothes since her shanking hands kept dropping the clothes, gave her something to drink and put her to sleep.

After that he vomits, and vomits some more. He realized he was shaking, sweating and crying but he couldn't help it. Getting some water and strips of cloth, he cleaned his wounds, puts some antibacterial salve and bandages it. After a while, he too, falls asleep.

**November 1933**

When they finally found a boat owned by a man that didn't care about parental supervision to cross to English Channel Charles almost cried in relief. They made it! Only a little more and they will be there. By this time Abby was crying almost daily or angry because she was hungry, scared or confused.

It has been months since the bell rang and their world went up in flames. Literally. They have spent little money traveling and Charles thinks they have enough for two or three years if they manage it properly. Too distracted in his mussing about money, he didn't notice the man in guard uniform that stopped Abby. Only when Abby grabbed his hand tightly and hid behind him that he looks up to the smiling face of some type of guard.

They were just arriving to London, so he had let his guard down. An error he was now severely screaming at himself for, not letting his guard down has saved them on many occasions when an unscrupulous saw them as an easy prey.

"Good evening kiddies. May I see your papers?"

Abby was tense behind him and he grabbed her arm reassuringly and protectively. If something were to happen he was ready to push her away so she could run or hide while he deals with whatever happens. Abby hasn't forgotten the last time a man in uniform stopped them and she was ready for an attack.

He did a quick check of his mind like he has gotten used to. Like they say, the mother of invention is necessity. The guard's intentions were to help them; he was genuinely worried about their situation.

Charles also knew this worry was because they were beautiful and clean, looking like they were from a rich family. He has no doubt that if they would have looked like street urchins they would have been ignored. He relaxed slightly and gave him their fake papers. As long as he doesn't plan to rob, harm or kill them he had no interest in his reason for helping them.

"Mr. and Miss Winter. May I ask why are you two alone in London?" He asked. Winter was the surname of their stolen identification. He didn't change it because they have no surname. His mother was disinherited and his father's father was also disinherited and never saw reason to adopt a new one. There had really been no need for it before.

And if he admits to himself _Charles Winter_ doesn't sound half bad. It was better than Charles Hanz, the other option. He had to drop Gustav because it didn't fit on the space and he couldn't change the size of the papers. It would have been too obvious that someone had tampered with them.

"We got separated from our parents in the conflicts on Germany." He said truthfully

"I see." And Charles really thought he could understand, they must not be the only ones after all. Germany was not really a good place right now. The promise of destruction was in the air and nobody wanted to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. The street violence between the Rotfront and SA also got published on the newspapers daily. Nothing over has happened but the tension and rumors were there.

"Do you have a place to stay?" The brown eyed, blond hair copper asked. For a second Charles doesn't answer, distracted with the man's mouth. He must have lost all of his teeth to poor hygiene, but when Charles saw the expected look on his round face he concentrated on the question and what he must say.

"No we don't, sir." He could have said that they were staying on an inn or something but they don't have the money to indefinitely stay at inns and winter was upon them.

Abby was also tired from all the traveling and if he was honest with himself he was also tired. Tired of the worrying, tired of the uncertainty of what tomorrow might bring and tired of always watching for robbers, killers, rappers and potential dangers. They had been lucky to travel in the warmer months but winter in London without shelter spelled Bad.

Not that they were not used to the cold but they always had a warm fire, warm woolen blankets and their mother's warm cocoa. An orphanage with free food sounded about as good as it could get, given the situation. At least until they can find a cheap place for themselves. He personally has never actually been in an orphanage, in none of his past (or future) lives. _But how bad can it really be? Roof over our head, protection of walls in the night, one adult to over twenty kids that gives no supervision. Oh well, they'll see soon enough and they can always go if it's bad._

"My name is Thomas McJeffry. I can take you to a place were they take care of kids." He said, a little disappointed that they were not lost rich kids that parents would give a good tip to the _kind_ police officer that brought them back home. _Oh well, in for a penny in for a pound. Might as well help them now_, he thought.

The officer took them to the closest orphanage. A run down ugly place, with peeling paint that could have been any color, a fence that would not look out of place on a prison and bars on the windows. There they met David Robertson, the caregiver of this place. He looked to be in his late 40, with a bald head and a slightly wrinkled face.

Immediately Charles doesn't like the place or the man that looked at them with a greedy glint in his beady eyes. From his mind Charles gathers that the price for small, pretty boys was high and that if Abby was untouched he could make double of the original price, maybe triple given how pretty she was. He was thinking that maybe he can 'break us in' before getting us 'adopted' to one of his friends, so he can keep enjoying us later on. Charles recoiled from the images and fantasies in the mind of that sorry excuse for a man as if he had been burned.

"Mister Thomas, can we please speak to you in private?" Charles said, keeping the disgust from his voice and turning to the gates, not letting go of Abby's hand.

"Of course son, if you'll excuse us David." Thomas said to David with a friendly smile.

David looked mad that they were moving away but made no move to stop them. With a copper besides them he won't do anything stupid that might jeopardize his profitable business.

"Of course, of course." David said with a strained smile, cleaning his sweaty palms on his wrinkled brown jumper.

"I'm sorry Mister Thomas but we won't be staying here. Is there another place you can recommend for us? If not I thank you for trying to help." Charles said, walking quickly out of the place.

"Why ever not? I know is not perfect but it will have clean beds and food," the copper said with a frown.

"We have our reasons, but if you ever want to do a surprise visit on Wednesday at 2pm a lot of kids will thank you." Charles said because he just can't leave without at least _trying _to help those kids. The things he saw on that man's mind were nightmare inducing.

"He's a bad man, a really bad man." Abby said quietly, still looking at the building. She immediately looked at Charles to see if he was mad. Charles took her hand to tell her without speaking that it was fine. He was actually proud that his usually spaced out sister could recognize dangerous man when she saw one. He also makes a mental note to talk to her about what happened with the two officers. He doesn't want her to be traumatized by it. Even if it was a traumatizing experience, in more ways than one.

"I'll look in to it. Well I can take you to Mrs. Cole but it's a little far so if we want to get there before nightfall we must go now," he said with obvious displeasure about having to run around London for two kids.

They arrived at the second orphanage by nightfall, just as the man had promised. It was located in a more industrial part of town. The streets had gas lamps that showered the road in an orange glow. It also had more shops and people walking around, in spite of the late hour. Charles noticed that one of the shops has a slight magical trace. That had its pros and cons, but it all depended if the place was safe for Abby. When they arrived at the door a thin, tall woman opened the door with a strained smile.

"How do you do officer? Please come in. What can I do for you on this lovely evening?" She smelled like hard alcohol and was obviously not pleased at the interruption even if she hid it well under pretty words. She was tall and plain and it was obvious that she took this job because no one chose to marry her and not out of vocation. But she did a passable job at acting the part of caring responsible adult.

Mrs. Cole was better than the last one, but that was not saying much. She was criminally neglectful of her charges, a drunk and could be bit abusive to 'demon children' also known as magical children that were in her care. What stopped her from being more than a little abusive was that she was scared of them. Apparently there has been a few, enough that she knows about magic, or _demon energy_ as she calls it, when she sees it.

"Madam Cole, I bring to you two more orphans. Do you have space for them?" The copper asked, uninterested. He obviously had reached his 'good person' quota.

She looked at the children for the first time with a critical, practiced eye. Her eyes moved from him to Abby and back again. Charles could tell she was pleased with their looks by the way her eyes greedily drank them in. Like the majority of people, Mrs. Cole liked pretty things. And of course pretty people were good people and ugly people were monsters. She would not think them 'demon children' unless they prove her wrong. Charles had no intention of proving her wrong so he thought they would be safe here for now. Unless there were grown men here, then they might have a problem because anyone will first be dead than touch Abby.

"My aren't they beautiful. Are they siblings? They don't look a thing alike. We are full at them moment. But Yes. I can make some room for them. In this time of conflict a good Christian cannot leave children on the street, specially on winter." Mrs. Cole simpered.

This cold hardly bothered them but in a few months it will and Charles didn't want to be on the streets then.

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance Madam Cole. Yes, we are siblings. This is Abigael Winter and I am Charles Winter. Thank you for having us." He said in his best 'I'm a small saint' voice and she of course ate it up. It is hard to deny him when he was being purposely charming.

"My, My! What a polite young man. And those _eyes_! They are to die for. Now go get wash up in the lavatory we will be having dinner soon. The officer and I will just finish the papers." She shooed them in the general direction of the lavatory and entered her office with the copper on tow. _Most likely those 'official' papers will involve some sex by the looks of them_, Charles thought cynically.

Dinner was a kind word for what they were having and calling it the '_Dinning Hall_' was probably someone's idea of a joke. The food was gruel and you couldn't guess what was meat or vegetables. He was guessing neither. They where siting on a small table in a dark corner. He wanted to make observations of the people here before meeting them. There were no babies, just a toddler. The rest was a mix of all ages till seventeen.

It was like a jungle, the bigger, stronger and fastest got to eat, and the others got their food eaten. There were two older boys that might be a problem and three he had to watch out for. Girls could get ugly too, especially when they're jealous, and Abby could become a victim to their pettiness. Abby has never had to deal with the cruelness of children and he's scared for her. But maybe this will be good for her. He can't always be there for her and she needs to learn how to fight her own battles.

She can even make a friend or two. Of course, he'll be there quietly watching her and won't let anyone hurt her, but she has to learn by experience also. It's slightly easier because he has already gone through it with Sophie and learned not to be (or _pretend_ not to be) the overprotective father and kill anyone that made her cry. The key was waiting until she was gone, beat the hell out of whoever, heal them, _smile _and invite them to dinner next time. Recipe for them to be properly warned and not tell Sophie. She used to get testy and rant how she was a grown woman and not a little girl. For a father their daughter is always _his_ little girl.

"Don't eat it if you don't want to. We still have some leftovers and we will have breakfast out tomorrow. Maybe buy some things. I want us to blend with the people here. That means clothes, hats, coats, shoes and talking English from now on." Charles told Abby when he saw her looking at the food with a pained expression.

"Coffee and sweet buns?" She asked with her best puppy dog eyes, lip trembling and hand on top of Charles'.

_Damn the French with their coffee and sweet things._

"If you have steam fish and all your vegetables in the afternoon" He bargained.

"Only if I can have a doll." She said with her best poker face.

He smiled and responded with a, "You'll have a doll if you eat well for a whole week and speak with one person in English." She was getting better at bargaining. He was so proud of her that he almost wanted to go and buy her all the dolls she wanted, but he won't of course. If she had her way they would have carried more dolls than food.

"Deal! Shake on it." They shake on their deal to seal it. This has been going on all trip. He gives her something she wants; she gives him good behavior. The reward system has been working out pretty well for them.

Mrs. Cole came to their table, walking like she was the queen of the castle and the rest was scum at her feet. Charles noticed her arrival when the dinning hall got suddenly quiet and a lot of children tried to hide under the tables. He noticed that her hair was even more of a mess and that her blouse was not properly put. _Figures,_ he thought with disgust.

"Come now children. I will lead you to your new accommodations." She said with a condescending smile and an imperial wave of her hands.

Obediently, they follow her up to the second floor. The place was an old manor house. It had pealing white paint and noisy floorboards but it was at least clean. Charles could see how this place was once beautiful and sophisticated but over the years and poor maintenance gave it the creepy feeling of a haunted house.

She opened the last door on a row of identical doors with a key and shouted to the inside of the room.

"Riddle! Get your things. You're sleeping on the hall. NOW! Hurry demon child!"

Charles heard some murmurs but they were too faint for him to discern words.

"I don't _care_ if it's November. Do I look like I _care_ what time of the year is? For every minute you make me lose, it'll be a lash later." She had a horrible voice when she was trying to sound nice, but when screaming Charles actually felt that he'll never hear anything beautiful ever again, that his ears would permanently scar.

Abby whimpered and hid behind him, holding his jumper and staying close. She didn't understand the words but the screams were quite obviously hostile.

A small boy around his age came out of the room. He gave Charles a look of pure loathing as he walked by. Charles assumed he was resenting him for taking his room.

"I'll come back in a minute with a mattress. We don't have more beds. I hope you don't mind sharing the room with your sister." Mrs. Cole said briskly.

"Of course not Mrs. Cole. Thank you for going trough all this trouble for us." His English was perfect but it had a noticeable German accent. She smiled, pleased at herself, and walked away briskly.

They waited in front of the door while the boy made a crude bed at the end of the hall with torn blankets and clothes. Charles took a few minutes to study the infamous Tom Riddle. He looked... _normal_, not someone your mother would point and say with surety that _'that boy is going to be trouble, stay away!_'

The only thing Charles could say about him was that he looked hungry, gaunt, and overall unhealthy and that he was furious. He was glaring at his few possessions like he wanted them to spontaneously burst in flames. He started moving his few possessions from the room to the floor at the end of the hall, right under a window.

He wasn't sure, but he was fairly sure Riddle hadn't been at dinner and after seeing how Mrs. Cole treated him Charles thought that if he hadn't there, it had not been by his own choice.

_Look away Charles, look away! He is a clinical psychopath and you can't save everyone. _

_He can be a danger to Abby. _

Something someone once said to him in another lifetime came to mind 'Your fingerprints don't fade no matter how many lives you touch' He always thought that his friend took it out of a movie but could never quite prove it. _Is not my problem what happens to him._

What to do, what to do. He hated moral dilemmas. The thing is you can't grow up with Abby and not learn to be patient and understanding. If Abby had been a psychopath he would have loved and protected her just as much. Because you can't help how you're born_._

_Let's think positive, not all psychopaths are born psychopaths; some are because of things that happened to them. _

_Depending on how he treats Abby and how Abby reacts to him, will decide if I help him or not._

Mrs. Cole came back with a thin mattress, sheets and what he guessed will be their uniform and quickly departed with a few harsh warnings. _I think that we've used up all of her motherly instincts for the month, if not the year._

"If you promise to not hurt my sister you can come inside." He told Riddle in an unemotional voice.

"I don't need your pity." Riddle spat with a hateful look but Charles could see a little doubt at the reason he was inviting him in if they already had the room.

_What more could they possibly want from me?_ Thought Tom uncertainly, _Do they want to humiliate me as well? See me beg? He will never beg!_

"Good. Because you don't have it." Tom still looked dubious so Charles added something the boy couldn't refuse in his current state, "We have warm sheets and food we can share with you."

He seemed to be at war with himself but ultimately hunger won and after giving Charles a long look he re-entered the room with his few personal belongings. He still looked suspicious, but that was all right because Charles was wary of him too. He was ready to punch Riddle if he so much as touched Abby.

"Abby can take the bed. We can share the mattress." This served two purposes for Charles. One, to keep an eye on him and the second so that Abby can have the bed for herself. She was trying to be good and brave but Charles knew how much she missed their parents, her bed, and their life. They took out all of their personal blankets that were big and warm, made for weather much colder and harsher than this. Charles gave two to Abby, one to cover the flea infected cot and another for herself.

He kept the rest to make the sorry excuse of a mattress more comfortable. Riddle looked cold. His lips and the tips of his fingers an unhealthy shade of blue. Charles was no expert but he had enough common sense to know it was never good to be blue. He was either sick or the cold didn't agree with him.

Charles took two servings of their food out of their bags and gave one to Abby and another to the boy. Riddle didn't eat it until after he saw Abby eating her share. _Paranoid of poison maybe?_

"I'm Charles Winter. This is my sister Abigael Winter." Charles introduced himself.

"How do you do? My name is Tom Marvolo Riddle." Tom said in a practiced tone after swallowing.

"You have some scars on you back that need healing. After you finish with your food take off your shirt." Riddle looked at Charles like he was a beast from some strange planet that he could not understand but ate his food without commenting.

"Are you finished Abb?" She nodded. "Then come here, I'll comb your hair." This was something they have been doing for months now. It used to be their mom that combed and braided her long hair, now he did it.

"Abby, how about you talk to the boy in English so that you can be one step closer to your doll?" Charles said in a low murmur.

"He-llow I ... am Abby." She looked back and smiled excitedly at Charles and he smiled back.

"Hello Abby, I'm Tom."

"Tum hurted." She said with a worried frown.

It seemed Abby had noticed the bloodstains and cared about his health. Riddle was looking at her confused until he comprehended what she meant and then blushed. Charles watched him carefully; Riddle was not looking at her with lust or with a glazed look.

Charles thought that it was more that he was embarrassed that someone cared that he was hurt than blushing because he liked Abby.

_Damn! He passed the first test. Did it made him a bad person that he wanted Riddle to fail? Probably._

Charles got up and took out their medical equipment, which was really nothing more than the bare necessities. Weight was an important factor when traveling.

"Take off your shirt Tom." Riddle looked at Abby and then at Charles and Charles understood the silent request. "Abby go to the lavatory and wash your face, your mouth and change to bed clothes."

After she left, Charles sat with Riddle on the bed and took his shirt off in one pull without asking permission. If he waited for Riddle he'd be up all night.

Charles cringed at the sight of his back. It was worse than he had thought. Riddle's whole back was covered with scars, old scars and new scars. Most were superficial but they were still dangerous if they got infected.

While Charles was looking at his back, Tom was tense as a board, waiting for the harsh comment or for the boy to say that _he's just not worth the trouble_. But to Tom's surprise, the beautiful blue-eyed boy did none of this. He washed the scars gently with water and a mild detergent and put an antibacterial salve. Tom thought that this must be the first time someone touches him to heal, instead of punish. He had forgotten that was a possibility.

Charles pushed some of his magic in to the wounds so that they close swiftly and put clean bandages. There was nothing else he could do. Tom's body and magic will do the rest now.

After Charles finished with his back Tom didn't thank him or otherwise acknowledge the act. But that was ok with Charles because he didn't do it for the thanks. The reason that Tom didn't thank him was not because of his pride, but because he just felt the most wonderful feeling running through him, it was powerful and... _soothing_. And he was still basking on it for minutes afterwards.

They changed out of their day clothes and into nightclothes, in Tom's case, moving mechanically, still relishing on the feeling. Charles opened the door for Abby and he went to use the lavatory that was thankfully empty and clean. The smell of harsh cleaners was strong in the air and some of the white tiles were broken but he was insanely glad to have it all the same. After the year he has lived, simple things like having a bathroom were privileges.

When Charles came back to the room, a towel around his neck and a small smile of satisfaction only known to those who have been deprived of a good clean, Abby was already asleep and Riddle was watching the roof from his side in their 'bed' for the night.

Charles threw some a warm sheet on top of Riddle because he looked like he was freezing with the thin sheet he had. Charles calmly sat on his side of the floor and closed his eyes to meditate. For a while he just concentrated on his breathing and then on his magic.

He felt how it traveled his body, how it flowed and unraveled. Then he went to his mental library, that still looked like a mess and he will be there half of his life. Most of the information was locked in a corner, much like a 'restricted section', information that he cannot access unless he goes into meditation. That was how he could function daily without going insane; but there was too much valuable information that he can use. Once he practices it of course, knowing the theory was not the same as doing it correctly.

Once he came out, he stretched his stiff limbs and went under the covers.

Riddle asked, "What were you doing?" without taking his eyes off the, apparently, captivating roof.

"Meditating." Charles answered abruptly

"Why?" Tom asked again.

_Is he feeling chatty? I'm ready for bed,_ Charles thought annoyed. "It helps me." He said, rolling over and closing his eyes to sleep.

* * *

><p><strong>Gellert Grindewald<strong>

**Year: 1931**

Gellert Grindewald was in the middle of an old Earth ritual commuting with magic when he suddenly opened his eyes. _Something has happened, something has changed._ If he hadn't been deeply connected with Magic herself he wouldn't have noticed. It felt like nothing he had ever felt before and somehow he knew that someone or something had changed irreparably.

He now needed to find if that change benefited his plans. He spared a thought at his old lover. He didn't know what he was missing by calling the Old Rituals _dark magic_, all this power and now he had this invaluable information. If only that girl wouldn't have died, he would have had one of the greatest wizards at his side.

He finished the ritual and went to clean the blood off his naked body. While the hot water and some black servant boy worked on cleaning him, he started to plan. He was pretty sure that the change was a _someone_ and not a something. It felt...alive. And that it was somewhere within Germany. Gellert knew he was powerful but accepted as a reality that there was a limit in how much magic he could 'feel' without losing his 'self' and literally becoming part of the magical current. By the end of the week he felt confident enough to pinpoint a more exact location than 'somewhere within Germany'.

He found a small village with some 3,000 muggles and some farms surrounding it. He started searching himself since he couldn't explain it to another person. He, and only he, knew what he was searching for. A particular kind of magic, that felt and tasted different. Even he had a hard time describing it to himself but he knew that if he ever came across it, he would know. After the first week of unsuccessful searching he found that he was having a harder time concentrating. He put it off on stress.

Planning a war was more complicated than people thought, with campaigning, uniforms, recruiting, training, and manipulating muggles to start their own war he had little time to sleep. But when he woke up to find his usual black servant without blood or organs on his room and all of his wards intact he started to worry. As time progressed he forgot all about the mysterious new magical presence that made such a change in the balance and started concentrating on _staying_ concentrated. He doesn't remember when or why he stopped meditating or doing Old Magic Rituals, just that he did. Eventually he stopped thinking something was wrong and continued with his war efforts. Servants usually ended dead, always in the same way, without blood or organs. But for some reason it didn't bother him, they were just servants he reasoned to himself. He also didn't check the wards or any other security measure; he knew they were working perfectly.

**Year: 1932**

In the in between moments of sleep and consciousness after a successful day working on his war efforts Gellert let himself relax and feel his magic. What he found scared him in a way he had never been scared before. His magic was tainted, swirling and desperately holding on to him. He couldn't get air into his lungs, just when he thought he would die, killed by his own magic, the pressure eased and everything went black. Images started racing, each one more terrible than the next.

He remembered. The black outs, the kills, _Oh Merlin_, the rituals... all those horrible rituals. _What had he done?_ He needed help. Albus. Albus will help him. He got out of bed and ran to his desk. In shaky hands he wrote a barely legible note. Before he could send it, he felt it again. The blankness.

**Year: 1933**

Things were shaping up beautifully. He felt confidant that in less than ten years the war would begin and if everything went as expected he will control Europe in the next two decades. It was midmorning and he was looking in his desk for the contracts he hoped he gets signed today. For some reason his desk was a mess. The stress most really be getting to him because he had never had his desk this unorganized.

The leader of the New Order cannot be anything but perfect, so he took a few minutes to organize his papers. He froze when he got to a note. He almost didn't recognize his own handwriting. The note was barely legible. He _never_ writes anything that it's not perfect and he hasn't thought of Albus in years. A chill travelled his back. He doesn't remember writing this; this desperate and scared plea for help. He put the note on his pocket and continued as if everything was normal. If something was really wrong with him and he was forgetting certain things because someone possessed him the best thing he can do was stay calm and _not think about it_. He will act without a moment's hesitation when he had more information and without alerting his jailer.

Gellert walked out of the meeting feeling empty. The meeting was successful and the contracts got signed but if he lets himself feel he will feel the boiling rage at being at the mercy of someone else. So with the will that got him named the most powerful dark wizard of Germany, even without finishing school, he suppressed his every feeling. He found a dark corner and stayed there, controlling his breathing and thoughts. Two muggle guards walked close to where he was, talking about a murder that happened last night. He usually wouldn't pay attention to muggles talk, but something that one of them said caught his interest.

"You're not serious," One guard was saying, "The detective must have been drunk! How could two trained Nazi guards have been killed with only metal pencils? And did he really say _metal_ pencils? Since when pencils are made with pure solid metal?" They continued walking and went out of his hearing range.

It sounded to him like transfiguration of wood to metal. The easiest transfiguration that exists. So it must have been a wizard. But why would a wizard not just AK them? Something in this didn't make sense and he had a feeling he should investigate this further.

* * *

><p>Review? Please?<p>

Just a :D :) :| :\ :( to tell me your overall thought on the chapter would be ok.


	4. Chapter 4: Building a Future

**Chapter 4: Building a Future**

"Come now Abby sit still so I can finish your hair." It was early morning and as promised Charles was taking Abigael to find some coffee and sweet buns with shopping afterwards. Abby was thrilled and she had been up since dawn but most infuriating of all she _won't sit still_. Charles was dreading how she'll become after caffeine and sugar.

"Tuum c-come w-with Abbie." _Oh no_, he hoped she doesn't think Riddle is some lost baby animal she has to 'save'.

"I'm not allowed to go out." Riddle answered

That response made Charles frown. When he peeked into the woman's mind, Mrs. Cole, he saw some abuse but not of this proportion. Just goes to show you how a person can delude themselves to think _they're not that bad_ and he was reading it from her perspective so he got the same impression that _'she's not that bad'._ Charles looked at Abby and saw her devastated face, tears forming in her eyes and all. He sighed.

"I'm sure Mrs. Cole will be alright with the idea of you showing us around. We are new after all and you are just being a good host." Charles said giving him a mischievous look.

"You're right, it's what a good Christian would do." Tom responded with a slight bitter smile. Tom knew that if Mrs. Cole finds out he will be in a lot of trouble... but this are the first children in years that want his company and maybe, just maybe, he will get to feel more of that amazing feeling he got last night. Last night was the best sleep he can remember. This boy, this Charles, has a certain _something_ that made the very air around him vibrate with power, with feeling, with something that feels _alive_. So maybe he can spend the day with him, later the other kids will tell them just what a freak, a monster, he is and they will leave him. But for now he will have the boy for himself for a little while longer.

Charles laughed at Tom's mock of Mrs. Cole and Abby asked what's a Christian in German. He answered her the best he could but he was sure she was still confused.

Thankfully they didn't meet anyone on their way down. The rest of the kids were at breakfast. Rule number one in this orphanage, with the great depression on it's doors, is that if you don't get to eat early, don't even bother going to the 'Dinning Hall'. At least that was what Tom said.

"Where can we get coffee and sweet buns?" Charles asked Riddle as they walked down to the street and away from the orphanage.

"There's a place a few streets over."

They follow him quietly. As they walked Charles paid extra attention to the clothes people were wearing, the colors that were more common, what was appropriate to girls and what was frowned upon. Charles and Abby's strange clothes were bringing a lot of attention and being German in London was not safe right now. So after they have breakfast, first thing they will have to do was buy clothes. Of course Charles was also looking for auras he might recognize but it could be years before he meets up with the other seven. He came early; the others might not come for a few years. So for now, he was on his own.

While Charles was busy studying the others, Tom was taking his time to study them. He can admit to himself that he has never seen more beautiful children, or adults for that matter. And it was not just their looks; it was their gracefulness, their confidence, and the way they walked, as if they ruled the world. There was something indescribable about them that made people want to be with them, be like them.

You could tell they were proud of their looks; they walked with their heads held high. Right now they were wearing bizarre clothes, but they could be wearing rags and still look like royalty. Eventually convincing everyone that rags were the new glitter. People got out of their way as they walked and _everyone_ stared, sometimes even stopping and looking back. As he was starting to hate them, Abigael, Abby as Charles calls her, looked back and smiled. A smile full of happiness. Happiness that he is here. _He_, Tom Riddle. She was happy that he was here and suddenly all that jealousy evaporated.

"Wait for me on this table and I'll go ask for our food. Abby no talking to strangers. Tom if something happens to Abby I'll hold you responsible." Charles said, looking at Tom seriously. Tom nodded with a little exasperation. Of course Charles will only be a few minutes away but better safe than sorry.

At the front Charles asked for three cups of coffee, three sweet buns, three oatmeal's and the newspaper and brought it all of it to their table. Tom looked surprised that he brought him food.

"I don't have money." Riddle said, looking at Charles. _Is he taunting me with food I cannot afford?_ Tom thought, a little disappointed, but not much. By now he only expects the worse in people. It was easier that way. He doesn't get his hopes up so that people can crush them. But for some reason he thought they were different. Before he could continue that train of thought Charles talked.

"I know. It's on me." Charles said as he started equally sharing the food and opening the newspaper to peek at the front page.

"Why are you being nice? What do you want from me?" Tom asked before he could stop himself. No one has _ever_ bought him food.

_It's really sad that he needs a reason for someone to do a nice thing but he won't take charity so I'll give him a reason, _Charles thought. "I want nothing you don't want to give, but if you can look out for Abby when I'm not there I'll appreciate it." Charles said calmly. Tom thought about it for a few seconds and then nodded. A favor for a favor was something he could understand. Nothing was for free after all.

"Abby eat the oatmeal. No, the sweet bun is not a proper meal. Yes, it will count for your doll." She answered in German and Charles in English. _The quicker she adopts to English the better_ _and there's no better way than day-to-day practice_.

As he looked at the paper and to his surprise saw that the front-page news was about a Mr. David Robertson taken to prison for life on the charges of selling the children of his orphanage and various other offenses. He smiled widely, this has made his day. Apparently Thomas McJeffrie took his suggestion seriously and investigated the orphanage. He wonders how this will change the future. The important thing was that it changed the present of a few kids, and that alone made it worth it. Even if the big picture doesn't change much.

"Now Tom, Can you show us a secondhand clothing store?" Charles asked after they finished and before Abby could ask for more sweets and coffee. _The stars know there's so much I can take with a sugar high Abby._

Tom elegantly cleaned his face with a table napkin and got up without a word. They followed him a few streets until he stopped and pointed at a store. The secondhand store left much to be desired but they still found five dresses of different pastel colors for Abby, some skirts and blouses, three hats, gloves, stockings, low heals, slippers and two winter coats. Charles managed to find some trousers, nice shirts, a black winter coat, dress shoes, boots, gloves and the hats he saw respectable men wearing. They were, thankfully, all in good condition and clean.

Abby asked him how to say clothes in English and he told her with a foreboding feeling.

"Tuum clothes, buy."

"I don't have money." Riddle looked bored and Charles didn't blame him, they have been in the store a long time. Abby frowned and looked at Charles.

"Brother." She looked at Charles like he can save her world if only he says yes. _God, the women in my life control me. I vow to become immune to the puppy dog eyes at a later date._ Charles looked at the thin, faded, gray uniform that gave no protection from the cold and he could admit, if only to himself, that Riddle could use some clothes.

"How about a favor for a favor. I have some plans that will take most of my time but I can't leave Abby alone. If you're willing to look out for her, I'll pay you in food and clothes." Charles bargained, thinking about the plan that had started forming in his mind last night.

"You could leave her alone. You don't need me to watch out for her. Why are you really doing this?" He looked at Charles seriously. _He cured me, gave me food and blankets and today he bought me food. No one is that nice. What does he really want?_ Tom thought suspiciously. He had been warned about strangers offering food and a warm bed for '_services'_.

"I really don't want to leave her alone in that place. Something might happen to her and I don't trust Mrs. Cole to protect her." Charles said truthfully, he hesitated but added "But also, if I was in your position I would want someone on my side." He looked at Tom in the eye showing his complete and total honesty.

Tom thought about it while Charles continued looking at him in the eyes, seeking for deceit. Charles looked honest, but with those impossibly blue eyes it was hard not to look anything but honest and true. A little voice in his mind was screaming that when they find out about his _special powers_ they would leave him like the rest. But Tom ignored it and decided to give him a chance. The last chance he will give a person, if Charles turns out like the rest he won't ever try it again.

"All right." and in a quieter voice said "But don't make me regret trusting you." Riddle said with an intensity that a six, almost seven, year-old should not have.

"As long as you never hurt Abby, we won't have a problem we will not be able to solve." Charles said with an easy going smile, silently asking himself if this is a good idea and praying to whatever god takes pity on him, that he has not just made a huge mistake.

Abby looked at Charles questioningly and he nodded. She smiled brilliantly at both of them and went to the men's rack to pick out clothes for Tom.

"Go with her or you'll find yourself with a lot of pink clothes and Abby's look of despair if you say no to her choices." Tom looked mildly worried and quickly followed her. Even Tom cannot deny the power of conviction Abby has when she wants something.

"Black, Abby, only black. No, not purple. _Black_." Charles heard him say, sounding a little panicked. _I'm so happy I'm not him right now. Abby will pretend the language barrier is just too great to get away with slipping a few colors._

They all got out of the store wearing their new clothes, looking and feeling like kids from a rich family, even if the clothes were secondhand. No one will look at them and think they come from an orphanage. Abby with her yellow dress, golden hair, fashionable hat and white winter coat was making people stop and stare. For a girl that has never seen a store, Abby looked like fish on water. She has always loved pretty clothes, that hasn't change. Even if she had to dig in piles of dust filled bins to find them. Thankfully not many people were out shopping, great depression and all, and prices were on all time low.

It was now lunchtime; Tom and Charles desperately needed a break. Tom led them to a small cafe and they all ordered some sandwiches with a side of salad.

"Yes, you have to eat the salad. They don't have fish and vegetables so salad it is. Remember our deal. Tom we need to go to a market to buy food for the week. I can't let Abby get sick with the slob they call food in the orphanage."

"Why do you protect her so?" Tom asked and Charles saw genuine confusion in his eyes. _He really doesn't understand why I take care of Abby the way I do, _Charles thought a little amazed_._ He took Abby's hand, small and delicate in his more callused hand and responded, "Because I can. Because I love her. Because she is my sister. Because she is the _only_ thing I have right now that is worth something. Because she _deserves it_. Because she is _worth it_. Because she would do it for me, if she could. Because I promised my parents that I will take care of her." That was the best he could do to explain it to him. Maybe Tom will understand it in time.

Tom hoped that one day, someone, maybe his long lost father, would say that about him. Even if his hopes that his family will some day come and rescue him dims a little more everyday. But he is six and he still dares to hope.

When they arrived kids were playing in front of the orphanage, enjoying the rare moment of sunshine and using their imagination instead of toys and playground. When they saw the new kids and Weird Riddle enter the gate they stopped and stared. They were wearing new clothes and on the sea of plain grey uniforms even Riddle looked good.

Charles was just hoping they'd ignore them. That they won't say anything and just let them pass. But no such luck. They formed a semi circle around the three new comers, blocking the entrance of the orphanage. Tom tensed, his fight or flight instinct at full alert. _This is it. They won't want me after this _Tom thought a little disappointed but expecting it.

"You guys shouldn't be with that _freak_ Riddle. Everyone knows he's _evil_." A girl that looked like she was twelve said, one of the clear leaders of the group. Her bony hands at her narrow hips and a frown on her long face.

"Yeah. He's _evil_." The rest repeated and with some adding, "Weird Riddle."

"Freak, get away from _proper_ people!" One of the braver ones screamed at Riddle, his pale face with red blotches.

Charles sighed; _the problem with telling a child that he is evil over and over is that, eventually, he will believe it_. Charles felt Tom's magic grow and knew he was only moments away from doing accidental magic. One of the bigger kids stepped closer and pushed Tom to the mud; ruining his new clothes and humiliating him at the same time.

"Noo hurt Tum! You bad, bad kids," screamed Abby, distraught and angry.

Charles knelt besides Tom and whispered, "Calm down Tom. Take a deep breath and bring back your power. Again. That's it, bring it back, I don't want you accidentally hurting Abby."

Abby took Tom's other hand, ignoring that they were covered in mud, and Charles took the other to help Tom get up. Tom looked at first surprised that they were helping him and then suspicious that Charles somehow knew about his power.

"Who I make as friends is my problem and I don't take kindly to bully's." Charles said with quiet intensity. They all got out of his way immediately and he guided Tom back to their rooms. Once the door closed Tom started.

"They're right you know. I am a _freak_. I can do impossible things; _hurt_ people if I want to. Now that you know you can stop _pretending to be nice_." Riddle looked agitated, his chest rising and falling rapidly and red covering his cheeks, neck and ears.

"You are not a freak Tom and being normal is overrated if you ask me." Charles ignored the pretending to be nice part because it was partly true. He was pretending for the happiness of his sister. At least that's the only reason he was willing to admit to himself.

"Why did you say those things down there? How can you possibly know?" Tom whispered, looking at Charles intently.

"I know because I can do magic too." Charles said simply.

"Magic? You can do it? It's that what I'm doing?... _Prove it._" Tom started hopeful but then turned suspicious.

"Yes it is magic." Charles opened his hand and let a ball of blue fire float in it. Being part veela meant that he had a slight affinity to fire, which meant it will come easier to him but he needed his magic to control it. Abby can't bring fire because by not having magic or enough veela to have the complete ability she won't be able to control it, thus she runs the risk of burning and possibly killing herself.

Tom looked at the blue ball of fire in Charles hand in awe, mouth slightly parted and eyes gleaming.

"It's true." Tom whispered, "I _knew_ I was special." He was looking greedily at the fire that was still not burning Charles' hand, just floating peacefully in it. Charles sighed, knowing that it was going to be a long night.

…

"Stop, stop please!" It has been _hours_. Abby was already sleeping and Tom kept asking and _asking_ about the magical world.

"We will go to Diagon Ally and I'll buy you a book but _please _let's go to sleep. I have a lot of things I need to do in the morning." Charles pleaded with an amused, but exasperated, face

_He'll buy me a book? He will probably forget tomorrow but maybe he will take me there and I will see this whole magical community! _Tom thought excitedly "Can you just do it one more time?" He just didn't want to think he was imagining that Charles could do magic.

"All right all ready! But last time Tom, I mean it." Charles said with a smile and turned a pencil into metal and casually threw it in the pile of metal pencils besides him.

As Charles was finally drifting to sweet unconsciousness Tom said, "Thank you, Charles."

"Your welcome Tom." Charles whispered without opening his eyes or turning around.

Charles knew what Riddle was thanking him for and it was not the long hours explaining all about the magical world and the magical school, it was for giving him hope. Hope that he will get out of here. Out of the orphanage, out of being hungry, out of being afraid, out of being _cold_. In a few hours he has literally given Tom a magical world he can look forward too.

"Charles?" Riddle whispered a while later.

"Hmmm?" Charles asked sleepily, opening one eye and turning around to see Tom's outline in the dark.

"Can magic bring back the dead? You see my mother died..." Tom said, a little uncertain but hopeful.

"No Tom, I'm sorry, but magic cannot truly bring back the dead. Is one of the limitations of magic. To defy death is to defy nature." Charles said quietly, knowing Tom will be mourning the death of his mother all over again.

"Oh." Tom whispered so quietly that Charles almost didn't hear him. Charles looked over to see Tom looking at the celling, tears sliding down his face. His mother was truly gone, and not even magic could bring her back. He was alone once more in a world that didn't want him.

-0-

"Come on, hurry up people! We have a long day ahead of us." Charles pleaded.

"Abby you will look pretty no matter what dress or hat you wear. Charles stop pressuring, it's giving me a headache. " Tom said but even he was in a hurry to get out. They were going to Diagon Ally in the afternoon and Tom almost didn't sleep out of excitement.

"Come. I'll comb your hair while Tom uses the bathroom. I won't pull, thief's promise!" Charles told Abby as he sat her down and took the comb.

"Thieves have no honor." Tom commented from the door. Charles looked at him amused and said "Tom don't put crazy ideas in her head."

After much fussing by Abby they were almost ready. They had packed a bag of food for the road and made it out of the orphanage without anyone stopping them. Charles hasn't even seen Mrs. Cole since their arrival. He guessed that she was too hangover in the mornings to bother with kids. In the same road of the orphanage was a flower shop that had some traces of magic and that was the first stop Charles wanted to go today. He saw it when they passed the first time and it was one of the reasons he decided to stay here. They entered the store and a bell rings from somewhere in the inside. He headed for the old lady in the counter, ignoring the plants on display.

"How do you do? What can I do for you in this fine morning young man?" She said with a kind voice. She was a cute old lady, the kind that seemed like the perfect grandmother. White hair and dark eyes in a wrinkled face that no doubt was beautiful once and looked graceful in her old age.

"Good morning to you Madam. My name is Charles Winter, this is my sister Abigael and our friend Tom Riddle. We are new in town and are looking to buy a house. I was wondering if you could point us in the right direction." He said in his most polite voice.

"Well I have a cottage from my late husband that I'm selling but I'm afraid is out in the country and needs a lot of repair." She said uncertainly.

"That sounds promising. Can we see the house?" Charles said with enthusiasm. _In the country, cheap and used to be owned by wizards, perfect! _He thought with happiness.

"Well dearie the house is an hour away on car and if you don't mind me asking, do you have the money for it?" She said a little sadly not thinking three kids could have more than a few pounds.

Charles smiled charmingly "We have enough money from our parents and we could always take a portkey there."

She looked startled.

"I didn't know you were magical. Well that simplifies matters, I guess. But if you don't mind me asking, what gave me away? I have been living as a muggle for many years and with a war going on I don't have any intentions of going back." She asked looking at us curiously and Charles detected a little anxiety in her eyes.

"It's faint but I can sense the magic in this place. Possibly the natural magical energy you give, it's not strong enough to be from wards or spells." He responded, trying to soothe whatever fears she might have at being found.

"Child, you can sense magic? Well that's unusual, if not downright impossible." She said disbelievingly but not rudely.

"Madam, that something is improbable does not mean it's impossible."

She smiled, "Too right you are. Let me close the store and we'll go to the back. No one comes at this time of day and I have no orders to prepare. "

"What's a portkey?" Tom asked the moment she went to lock the door. Charles was surprised that Tom waited until the end of the conversation to ask. He didn't seem the patient type.

"It's a magical transportation devise. Once set, it takes you almost instantly to another location. It feels like something pulling you from your naval and dumping you at high speed on the other side." Charles explained.

"And a muggle?"

"A non-magical."

She made a pot into a portkey, they all touched it and disappeared.

The house was like she said. A small cottage that needed a lot of repairs but he could see the potential. The outside was quaint, like something you would see in a storybook. Except uglier. And somewhat crooked.

The first floor had the kitchen, the living room with a fireplace and a bathroom. The second floor had two bedrooms and up some stairs was a small attic. The attic was clearly only to store stuff because the ceiling was too low to be comfortable. Both bedrooms had a fireplace and were reasonably big. The roof needed work, some walls needed work, the stairs needed to be checked and it was in desperate need of a good cleaning.

But it was cheap, and they would have a beautiful valley all to themselves. He thinks he can fix most of it, it will take time but it can be a home. He asked Abby's opinion.

"You can fix it and I can make it pretty." She said with a decisive nod and he takes that as a Yes.

"How about you Tom, think we can make something out of this?" Charles asked with an easy going smile, shading his eyes from the glare of the sun.

"We? As in me?" Riddle said shocked, looking confused.

"Well it is a big project. It's not going to be easy and it'll take months. I'm going to need a helper and we can share a room until Hogwarts." _Cheap labor, that's the only reason he was doing it. Yup. It has nothing to do with the look he gave me. Nop, not at all._

"This does not mean we are _friends_." Tom said after Charles finished paying Martha, the flower shop owner, in full and in cash.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"Good."

"Good. On to the next thing on the list." It was actually the wood shop across the street from the flower shop.

"W-why our we he-re?" Abby asked and he smiled at her. Proud that she was making an effort to speak English.

"I need to get a job here." He needed to start on those repairs on the house as soon as possible.

"J-jub?" He told her the word in German and she nodded.

The store looked like a forest had exploded and then a tool shop moved in in the disaster area. If there were any order to the chaos, only the storeowner would know. He saw a man on the back and walked towards him, evading the odd piece of log or tool carelessly thrown on the floor.

"Good evening gentlemen, lady. In what can I help you with?" He was a man in his late fifties with red hair and soft brown eyes. He had the body and hands of a person that has been working his whole life outside. Charles looked into the man's mind and saw that he was, as he seemed.

A simple hardworking man. If you didn't bring him trouble he will not be aggressive but does not go out of his way to be nice.

"How do you do. I was wondering if you have any need of a helper?"

"I'm sorry kid, times are bad and I don't have the money to pay a helper." He said, looking at Charles a little more serious than before. "My name is George Stonegood, and yours kid?

"Charles Winter, a pleasure. This Abigael and Tom Riddle." He said pointing at each of them. "Then I won't work for money, I'll work for wood and borrowing your tools." He bargained.

"This is serious work kid. You could get hurt."

"My father used to work with wood, metal and leather. He taught me, you could test me if you want."

"All right if you prove knowledgeable I'll hire you. But make sure you are serious about this, I'll have you working from sun up to sun down four days a week." He said, doubtful but willing to give the boy a fair shot.

After a long series of questions he finally seemed pleased with the amount of training Charles had and asked, "So what does a scrap of a kid like you need wood and tools?"

"We need to do some repair work on a house."

"Well, as long as you know what you're doing and bring back all my tools in perfect condition."

"I give you my word, sir." Charles said seriously. The effect was not as powerful as when he was an adult, but it was the best he could do while still being a child. It was a good thing that child labor was completely normal, even expected. After all, any hand in a family that could work meant a little more food on the table. If he can walk and talk, so it follows that he can work.

It was a half hour trip to Diagon Ally, taking buses and the tube. Tom was practically vibrating on his sit.

"Remember it's suppose to look like this. It's meant to be unappealing." Charles reminded the boy when he saw Tom's suspicious face at looking at the outside of the Leaky Cauldron. Charles grabbed Abby's hand and opened the door. Once inside they asked the bartender to please open the portal.

Tom's face was priceless. He wished he had a camera; he could blackmail Tom _for life_ with that awestruck expression of pure joy.

Abby and Tom were looking at everything and going from one store to the next, almost running over witches and wizards in their enthusiasm and not caring. Charles just followed them at a calmer pace, answering all their questions. For the next few hours the three of them acted like children; seeing, touching (no buy, no touch!), poking (if it breaks, you buy it!) running and playing.

Everything had to be looked, touched, and questioned at least twice. And after eating a shared sundae ice cream they were all in that sunny place called sugar high. He bought Abby a storybook with talking and moving pictures and Tom '_Hogwarts a History_', as the book he promised to buy him.

_He actually remembered his promise and most wonderful of all, he did it, he actually bought me a book! _Tom thought, looking at the only thing he has that was actually _his_. He looked at Charles to see him smiling at whatever his sister was telling him and felt something. Something he can't name because he has never felt it, but he knows he will never forget Charles Winter. Even if he never saw him again in his life after today, he won't ever forget him.

Not that he planned of ever letting him go that is.

* * *

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	5. Chapter 5: A toast

****Edited May 2012****

**Chapter 5: A toast to fucking up the future**

They were getting ready for bed when Tom asked, "How can you have control over your magic? I read we are only supposed to do accidental magic. You don't have a wand and you don't speak Latin words."

Charles was a little surprised by the question. Just a moment ago they were talking about the high price of fruits and vegetables. He took a second to think what he could say to Tom.

"If you were to be mute, deaf and without wood to make a wand, do you think you'll be incapable of doing magic?" He asked instead.

Tom only stared, not liking how he answered his question with another question.

Charles sighed. "Tom, what is improbable is not impossible." _After all I'm from 4,000 years in the future and remember all of my lives. If that's possible then anything is bloody possible_.

"Meditation helps." Charles added when he saw that Tom was getting angry at his evasions.

"Can you teach me?" Tom asked, sounding a little hopeful. Charles studied his face for a moment and then nodded.

"Sure. We can do guided meditation exercise every night until you can do it on your own."

"Just like that?" Tom asked a little unbelieving.

"Just like that." Charles answer with a smile. Right now he wishes he had alcohol, just so that he could toast to fucking up the future as he knows it.

-0-

After a few days in his new job Charles discovered a problem. Tom and Abby finished their books and were bored to death stuck in a room all day. Tom had even started to learn German from Abby and Abby has been braiding Tom's hair, much to his despair and Charles amusement. But Charles quickly thinks of something that can occupy their time.

He noticed that being inside the orphanage made Tom extremely tense and jumpy. Tom keeps looking at the door, waiting for the moment that his torment will continue and that the food and warmth was all a dream his fevered mind created. Being out all day means that he wont have to worry about Mrs Cole or the other kids and can get out of his prison.

"Hello dear, is nice to see you again. What brings you here again?" Martha asked him once he comes into her store. She was holding her gloves on one hand and a potted plant on the other, smiling widely, glad to see the little wizard again.

"Good morning Martha. It's good to see you again. I came here to ask if you needed some extra help around the store. My sister is good with plants, you see."

"Well I could use some help. Tending this store all by myself does get hard. Is just I haven't got much spare money. These are hard times and not many people are buying fresh flowers."

"If you can pay her with a little space and materials so that she can grow her own garden, that'll be enough. The only thing that is important to me is that you do a magical promise to not _willfully_ harm my sister physically or mentally."

"That sounds a mighty reasonable price. You have a deal young man. It's good to see that you love and protect your sister so fiercely" A magical promise was not like a magical vow. It won't take your life or magic to break it, it will only hurt a lot to break it.

He continued on his way to work. Today he'll be asking George, his boss, if he's willing to take Tom as a helper on the same conditions as him.

"Sure kid, I'll take him, on the condition that you have to show him the ropes. There's not much cheap labour this days." George said in response to his query, shaking his head sadly. He's a pretty good boss and now with Tom working with him they'll have the wood they need for the house in less time.

-0-

It was 27 of December 1933 and their third week of working. By now they were used to what has become their daily lives. Keeping Abby busy turned out to be a great idea. She was not crying so much anymore, she was proud of her garden and has made a friend in Martha. Tom has also relaxed. Being out of the orphanage all day, eating three full meals a day and doing something with his hands that he can be proud of has really helped him more than Charles could have imagined. He did not tensed that much when Abby hugs him. Tom and him were working well together; with a look or a hand gesture they could understand what the other wanted. Tom doesn't talk much but that was all right with Charles.

It was the middle of the night and Charles looked for what woke him up. Tom was having a nightmare, a bad one it appeared. He nudged Tom a little so that he wakes up. When that didn't work he put a little more force in the action. Tom wakes up like a mad man, sitting upright and looking at the shadows for the monster that was not there.

"Shhh. It's Ok. It was only a nightmare. Go back to sleep." Tom looked at Charles and Charles notices for the first time the tears. Charles sighed and opened his arms "Come here. Shhh it's only a nightmare." Tom cried in his shoulder and Charles just held him, waiting for Tom to calm down. He was still only six, after all. A broken six-year-old with issues.

_This is the first time someone held him while he cries_ Tom thought. Not that he cries all that much. And even as he relishes Charles hold on him he was still embarrassed that someone as seemingly strong as Charles has to see him this weak. _What if he mocks me for being weak?_ "If you ever tell someone about this I'll kill you." Tom whispers to Charles.

"Everyone needs human contact, Tom. Go to sleep." Tom felt Charles' magic on him, and the wonderful feeling is back again. Tom smiled blissfully and slept peacefully.

After Charles pushed a little magic to Tom so that he could have some dreamless sleep, Charles rolls him over to the other side of the mattress went back to sleep. They have to go to work tomorrow after all.

30 of December 1933

"Abby tomorrow is Tom's birthday how about you make something nice for him?"

"Yeah! And cake?" _Of course she's thinking about sweets._ Charles laughs in resignation, shaking his head at his sister love of sweets.

"Yes. I'll buy him something in the store when I get out of work, ok? But don't tell him it's a secret."

She changed to German. "You didn't get to celebrate your birthday either." She looked unbearably sad. And he knows what she's thinking, this is the first year they don't celebrate their birthdays with their parents, in their home, with homemade cakes and gifts.

"Neither did you. How about we make it a three-way birthday? With cake and gifts for all."

She squeals and jumps "Yes! But we have to tell Tom now."

"All right, and tell Martha. Maybe she'll want to join us."

She hugs him and takes up running to the flower shop and he makes his way to work. Tom was already there and he was in a foul mood. Charles assumed that Tom doesn't like his birthday.

"Hey Tom, wait up a moment."

"Yeah?" Tom asked with a raised brow; Charles could go a whole workday without talking so Tom knew this meant he had something in mind.

"Tomorrow is a free day for all and I was thinking doing something to celebrate all our birthdays."

"I have nothing to celebrate tomorrow."

"Why not?" Charles thought he had an idea but he knew very little about the boy so it could very much be that he was angry at something else. And Tom hadn't talked to him about the circumstances that led him to be an orphan. So_ technically_, he shouldn't know.

"My mother died on that day." Tom said without any sort of infliction, not even facing Charles.

"What did she die of?" Tom's whole body language told Charles that this wasn't a conversation that he wanted to have but Charles pushed ahead anyway.

"Childbirth." Tom said. His voice was unemotional, but his eyes when he turned back and faced Charles, dared him to accuse Tom of being a murderer.

"Then you can honour her tomorrow by being happy that you are alive." Charles grabbed his hand when Tom tried to walk away. "You were worth it to her, don't ever doubt it." He said with intensity. Knowing it was the truth.

"She abandoned me." Tom said in a broken and spiteful voice, no louder than a whisper. Charles guided him to a more private place and hugged him. Tom was tense as a board but Charles figured that he needed a hug and Abby was not here to give him one. She was better at the hugs thing but just this one time, he could fill in.

"No, Tom she didn't. Do you hear me? She didn't abandon you. Childbirth kills even the strongest women. That doesn't mean she didn't love you or that she wasn't ready to give her life for yours. That's how parents are, given a second chance she would have given her life in a second if it meant you could live." He should know. Sophie's mother died in childbirth. She had know it was a high-risk pregnancy and that the safe thing was to abort but... she always knew that Sophie will be worth it. And she was right. Sophie was worth it and in the end he too gave his life for Sophie's and proud of it. Every day of his life he will thank her for her choice, for giving him the chance to know Sophie. Raising her was the best thing of that life.

His tone of voice and fierce conviction more than his words made Tom nod and give Charles a tentative smile.

"Now go a built me something nice for my birthday gift. Make sure you use glitter or horses in whatever you build for Abby." Charles said with a soft smile, pushing him out.

Charles ended up making a snake for Tom and a doll for Abby. He was actually proud of his gifts, considering the short amount of time and material. The dress of the doll came from a white cloth washed in diluted red paint so that it looked pink, with a pink hat to disguise the fact that it only has a few strips of hair, his hair. The snake was small and eerily life like, painted black, red and gold. He put them on a bag and continued with the table he was supposed to be making. When they got out of work he saw that Tom also had a lumpy bag. He wondered what Tom could have made in so a short notice.

They picked up Abby, greeted Martha and continued on their way. They hadn't seen much of Mrs Cole or the other kids. They get out to work at sunrise and don't come back till sundown and then eat and stay on their room. That's for the best, he supposed. Tom was just begging to relax now that he didn't have to worry about starvation, beatings and the cold. But he kept looking at them like he was waiting for them to leave or abandon him, but every day that he wakes up and sees them on the room he relaxed a little more.

The morning of their combined birthday celebration they woke up in high spirits

"First thing on our list is go out to have a birthday breakfast with our favourites." Charles said from his side of the mattress, still in his pyjamas.

"We have a list?" Tom asked besides him, turning around to give Charles an amused look.

Charles rolled his eyes but corrected, "Mental list," with smile.

"What other things are on that mental list?" Tom asked with a slight teasing tone and big yawn.

"Right now it has... one. What do you want to do?"

"Diagon Alley." Tom responded immediately.

"Ice cream." Abby said at the same time, rolling over in the bed to see Charles response.

"Sooo... we can have ice cream at Diagon Alley after breakfast and at night we can open our gifts. Martha is not coming right?" Abby shakes her head no.

-0-

They had a nice day out, even if Abby cried because she missed their parents. They took a little time put flowers out for Tom's mother. They didn't know where she was buried so they just put them on a tree in the park. Martha sent them a box of cookies with Abby and they bought a small cake. Abby sang Happy birthday in German and horribly broken English before she let them take a pieces. Then at night, when they were in their room in pyjamas they all sat on the mattress and gave out the presents they had made for each other. Abby had made flower crowns for all; hers of course, was bigger and pink. Tom made simple wooden boxes. Abby's had flowers and horses carved on the top and Charles' was plain but had a secret compartment. Tom looked at his snake in wonder; he was still not as skilled as Charles to do that level of detail. Abby was delighted to have a new doll. She put it besides the other two she has manage to win.

Hours later, when Abby was softy snoring from the bed and Charles was just hitting that sleepy state, Tom talked,

"It was my first birthday celebration you know."

"I know." Charles said and no other words were spoken.

-0-

A few nights later, when they were alone in the room changing, when Tom asked, "How did you get the scars on your back and wrist?"

Charles stayed silent for a while, pointlessly folding the clothes he had used that day and taking more time than necessary to prepare for bed, at last, when there wasn't any more distractions, he started, "You have to understand… getting out of Germany was a nightmare. For the most part we were pretty lucky... but one night we weren't. Two Nazi soldiers found us without papers or adult supervision; they took us to a house far from town. One of them burned the star on my back... They wanted to torture me and rape Abby." Charles stayed lost in his memories, reliving the experience again and wondering if he should have done things differently, until Tom talked again.

"Did you kill them?" Tom asked seriously.

"Yes." They looked at each other for a moment in complete understanding.

"Good."

-0-

One of their free days in the week was spent walking around London, seeing all the sights. Occasionally, they went to Diagon Alley. Of course for Charles this was an excuse to look for his parents and the others, but they still had good time playing on the parks and being kids. He taught them how to play with wooden swords and how to fly kites and they do this often. They also visit the public library every week, take out a few books and go to a warm spot to read. It was his enforced study time for them.

They weren't going to school, it's wartime and nobody was donating money so that orphans could go to school. They take out science, history, literature and math books. Tom mostly read by himself but sometimes listened to what he was teaching Abby. After he was done with the basics he asks her how can the grass be green and then explain everything from photosynthesis to how the eye works to pick out colours. She just listens to him and after he's done she has to explain it to Tom and Charles picks up on what she didn't understand the first time and go over it again.

Then how the sky is blue, so they talk about the atmosphere, the elements that are in the air, how the light hits them to make the wavelength of the colour blue and how our eyes pick up that wavelength and tells the brain what colour they are seeing. He makes diagrams and pictures of it all. Then he asks her how come we see pink and orange in the evenings and mornings? And go into a discussion of how the particles in the atmosphere that are close to the earth affect the wavelength and change the colour. And then what happens to the blue at night? He knows that she's getting it when she answers 'no light!' with a proud smile. Charles knows this was advance material but she was smart and wanted to know how things work so he gives her the complete answer. If she understands part of it and has a basic idea of the rest it will be enough, _for now_. He's not even sure the experiments that gave the results of what he's explaining have even been done yet.

Charles was sure that if it was anyone else but him talking she wouldn't listen, but he's her brother and she adores him so she does her very best to pay attention and understand. Of course they work only a little at a time and he speaks in a simple, easy to follow way. History was easier because he has lived most of it, so he tells trilling stories about adventure, love and culture. Tom usually paid extra attention when he was telling history about the magical culture. Charles has been both goblin and magical human in the wars, so one day he'll tell them about the honour, the glory and the passion of a goblin fighting the back-stabbing humans that 'Want to take our right to have a wand. _'They want to take our magic!_' He tells them with fury and indignation _'Brothers and sisters is time to revel! Next they will tell us that we can't own gold!_' And the next day he'll tell them about the plight of the human _'Those murdering savages! They cannot be trusted with the gift of magic. The will kill our children, rape our woman and destroy the wizarding world!_'

Tom didn't trust that his stories were true, even if Charles assured him they were. He thought that he was just amusing Abby with tales of Tjan The Strong and the love of his life Yinja the Blood Princess in the goblin Wars of 1290. The next time they went to Diagon Alley he checked in the magical bookstore the dates and events he told them. After hours of looking in the history section he asked Charles in an unbelieving voice "How can you possibly know this things?"

"I read the books." Which was true, _in another lifetime_.

"These are dry facts. I've been looking for three hours before encountering a _side note_ telling about the general facts of the brilliant, hour-long tale you told us. How can you possibly have read all the books on history and tell them like you do! And anyway they only tell the wizard side of the story." He asked with an accusing voice, like Charles has done something untrustworthy and he was going to find out.

"I had a few goblin friends." Also true_... from when he was a goblin._

Tom knew Charles was not lying but that he was still not telling him the entire story. Tom nodded, not pleased but respecting Charles privacy. Well, not so much as respecting his privacy, it was more that he knew that force won't make Charles tell him and that pushing a subject usually got him tight lips from the boy.

Charles left Tom to go look for Abby and found her reading children books.

"What have you got there, Abby?" She showed him a book about Mr Rabbit and the Serpent.

"Mr Rabbit killed the bad serpent." She said with a hero-worship voice.

_Oh no, he must kill this in the bud._

He took the book and read it. It was just a few pages long with big moving pictures.

"Abby honey, being bad it's all about perspective. Don't you think Mr Rabbit was wrong in poking the serpent out of its hole? He didn't even say he was sorry! The serpent told him it was his home and that he wasn't going to go and what does Mr Rabbit do? He tells him this is his land to plant carrots and kills him. Do you think that what he did was nice?"

"Charles the serpent tried to bite him!" She squeals.

"If anyone tries to take you away from your home I want you to bite them and hard."

She giggled, "Don't be silly Charles!"

He gives her the book back and she frowns, looking at the cover picture and thinking about what her brother had said and slowly nodded. "But you're right Mr Rabbit wasn't all that nice. He should have said sorry and shared his land."

"That's my girl." Charles said with a proud smile, kissing the top of her head.

"Child! You have completely ruined that story for me." A lady that had overheard them told Charles. "I must have read that book a thousand times when I was a little girl and I never though it like that. Mr Rabbit was my hero." She looked like she would have liked to punish him for breaking her childhood love. He smiled widely.

"Then Madam may this lesson serve you well. The next time you want to call someone evil or a hero, remember it is all about perspective. To open your eyes to the perspective of the other helps you understand a way to resolve a problem that benefits both parties." He said to her, _personal experience anyone? Really, how many times have I been called first an evil overlord and then a hero?_

She looked at Charles in shock. He guesses he doesn't sound his age and that surprises her. But how are normal seven-year olds supposed to speak again? Tom and Abby were not normal so he wouldn't know. Normal is so overrated anyway.

"I'll keep that in mind, child. Say what's your name? Maybe I know your parents. My name is Griselda Marchbanks and I'm the transfiguration professor at Hogwarts."

"How do you do Professor? It's nice to meet you. My name is Charles Winter and this is my older sister Abigael Winter and I doubt you know our parents. They didn't attend Hogwarts. Tom come here a second!" He yelled at they boy who was reading a book on history on the back row. "Tom this is the transfiguration professor Griselda Marchbanks. Professor this is our friend Tom Riddle."

Tom didn't even bother to say hello but gave her a pencil. "Can you transfigure this into metal without a wand?"

"Tom you are being rude," Charles said in a harsh whisper, giving him a warning look

"Child, transfiguration is a dangerous and hard branch of magic. It cannot be done without a wand." She said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Like saying the sky is blue. _Thing is that half the time is not blue but clear, and part of the time it is blue it also has red, orange and yellow_.

"I'm sorry Professor, I didn't know and to see magic is so very exciting." Tom amended with an innocent smile and a sheepish expression.

"I understand, child. Well now I must be going. I hope I see you again. Good day," she said, still looking intently at Tom.

"Good day Professor," They said.

"She knows less than you and you're seven! How is that even possible? Unless she's a horrible teacher. You must teach me everything you know. It's clear we won't learn a thing from her. She's too weak."

"Tom you are being dramatic. I'm sure she knows a lot about transfiguration, she just doesn't know my style; it has nothing to do with her magical ability. And you know I never do anything for free." Charles gave Tom an evil smile.

"What will you have me do? Eat my vegetables?" Tom mockingly asked.

"Oh the possibilities! The possibilities!" He does his best evil-mad-scientist-on-drugs laugh. _In moments like this a black cloud with electricity and fire as a background effect would not go amiss_ thought Charles. _Maybe there's a charm I could invent?_

"Jerk."

"Prat."

-0-

"Tom you're the younger one, so it's you who must have the rose princess crown."

"I'm only a month younger than you!"

"Tom do you want to make Abby cry?" Charles said, looking at Tom in the eyes.

"Emotional blackmail!" Tom gave Charles a filthy look. "Give me the stupid crown. No Abby! I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. Your crown is not stupid... It's very pretty... Yes, I promise."

"We are so whipped." Charles said when Abby was busy arranging the upcoming wedding.

"She is evil, I tell you. _Evil_. With her big brown eyes and the promise of crying makes us jump on fire if she so wishes." Tom whispered back, arranging his falling crown and glowering at the bouquet in his hand.

"Best thing is to accept that she has the power and be happy with it. Less trouble that way."

"I thought men controlled the world but I'm beginning to think otherwise."

"Hard truth of the world."

-0-

They were just getting back from a day at the park. The sun was falling and people were heading home from work. Most kids were inside because it was still cold outside and they were the only ones that had proper clothes for the cold. As they were passing the corridor of doors that led to their room, Charles heard a toddler crying and screaming from a door that leads to the room of the older boys.

"Tom take Abby to our room and make sure she stays there. I'll be there in a few." Tom frowned at being ordered, but nodded when he saw Charles face.

Charles made sure Tom and Abby were far away when he tried to open the door. It was closed. He concentrated on what he wanted his magic to do, visualized it and pushed his magic from his body to the door. The door opened and everyone stopped to look who was at the door. He immediately noticed the toddler, a girl, of two or three years, on the bed with ropes holding her. She had no clothes and the three boys were on various state of undress. He felt nausea and anger stir in his stomach.

"Hey kid you coming to join the fun? Close that door. We'll teach you how to be a man." The oldest said with a leer, looking up and down at the pretty boy who just entered.

Charles closed the door and locked it. He calmly walked to the girl; she looked at him with big scared eyes. "Don't worry, I won't hurt you." He whispered in her ear, she nodded and looked with hope to his ever-blue eyes. Charles put his hand on her forehead and forced her into a dreamless sleep. There was no need for her to witness this. He looked at the girl and thought '_This could have been Abby this year with the Nazi soldiers that took them. This little girl could have been my Sophie too_' and fury blinded him because no one should be submitted to this kind of torture and abuse.

The room dropped to freezing temperatures and the imbeciles finally noticed his furious face. He took a pencil out of his pocket, enlarged it and changed it to solid metal. This will not be pleasant for them.

...

He doesn't do anything that he can't heal later on. Of course the heals are not really as good on the inside as the outside but he gets a good practice out of wandless healing. By now they were a bloody mess but don't have more than a few scars on them and were properly scared shitless. One of them even shit himself. Fancy that he thought it was just a saying. He casts them a curse that if they ever even think about raping or molesting all the blood will go out from their penis, at first it will look blue/black from the lack of blood. If they don't stop it could become a more ... _permanent_ problem. He's not sure if it will do what he intended, but whatever it does, it will be interesting to see, of that he was sure.

This will not make them good people and it doesn't make him a good person by doing it either. But he had never claimed to be perfect. Once he leaves this room they won't have any evidence he touched them and that will be even scarier for them.

"I hope I made my point clear, hmm?" Charles said in a false pleasant voice.

They sob and moan some more. He took out the bindings from the girl and carried her to their bedroom.

"Abby darling can you do me a favour and bathe this little girl. Make sure to clean all her wounds and put her in some of your old clean clothes. Thanks sis. We will wake her later and give her something to eat." Abby took the girl to the girl's bath with her. Charles sat on the bed and looked at the floor for a while.

"Why did you help her?"

"Hmm?" He asked looking up, not having heard the question.

"Why did you help her?" Tom repeated.

"That could have been Abby." He said simply. Tom nodded, remembering their conversation about how he got his scars.

-0-

"What's your name?" Charles asked once the girl was clean and had eaten. She was a cute thing, blonde hair and big blue eyes he noticed. He could tell she was going to be a looker once she grows up. But right now, she was a mess. It seemed like the last time she ate a full meal was on her mother's belly. Her back didn't have a spot that a lash, knife or fist hadn't touched and he was not sure if she'll ever recover mentally.

"No name." She said in a quiet voice that they almost didn't hear.

"You don't have a name?" Charles asked, surprised. She shakes her head.

"How about we give you one?" She nodded, a little, confusion clear on her small face. She was still holding Abby like she was a lifeline. He doesn't blame her and keeps a good distance.

"How about Penelope?" Suggested Tom. Charles was surprised that Tom was even listening or cared in any way.

"Winter." Abby said firmly. Abby and Charles had a silent battle. _No this is not a puppy or a doll! It's a child that will cost us money and- and time. We will have to raise her. I'm going to put my foot down on this. No. No and No._

He sighed. He lost the battle; there was no way in hell he was taking that child away from Abby. He could see it in her eyes, the child was hers already. He'll have to break her arms to take the child away.

"Penelope Winter. Do you like it?" _Might as well._

She smiled a little, "Pretty."

"You'll share the bed with Abby. Is that all right?" She nodded sleepily and they all got ready for bed.

Hours later when Abby and Penelope were already asleep, Charles turned to Tom.

"Tom answer truthfully... Did they ever do it to you?" He _has_ to know, he's not sure why, but he has to.

Tom stayed quiet a long time and Charles almost thinks he was not going to answer.

"They tried, but my magic always stopped them." Tom said.

Charles breathes out in relief and stayed quiet. Tom won't want his pity. But he took Tom's hand in his under the sheets and squeezed a little. They went to sleep holding hands.


	6. Chapter 6: Money!

**Chapter 6: Money**

Abby was taking Penelope with her to work and later she was going with Martha to buy things for Penelope. Martha will do them the favour of brewing potions to heal her body and bring it back to what it was supposed to be. Her metal wounds were another matter all together, those will be up to time to heal. Tom will also be taking the potions, but in lower doses and for less days. Not that he's happy about it but it'll do him well in the future. Right now they were walking to work and Tom didn't waste a second after they dropped the girls to start.

"You can't do this Charles! This is crazy. We don't have the money. If we have to feed another person we will run out of money and have to eat in the orphanage again. You know Mrs Cole will starve me." Tom said with anger, but Charles knew him well enough by now to note the hint of desperation on his voice.

"Don't worry about it Tom. I'll get another job. I already have a plan." Charles said dismissively, walking a little ahead of Tom.

"Are you crazy!" Tom ran up to him, "When will you have time for another work? All we do _is work_, either on the house or on the shop." He sounded furious.

"Have faith in me Tom. I'll work it out."

"You'll work it out._ You'll work it out!_ You told me I could trust you and your proving to be like everyone else. _A disappointment!_ You will starve us all. And for _what?_ A little girl, just like the other hundred little girls that are dying of hunger and cold. And_ we _will end up dying of hunger and cold. Do you have any _idea_ how painful is to be a week without food?_ Do you?_ Because that's what your condemning all of us." Tom said in a hateful, desperate voice.

Charles rounded on him, mad, and slowly and clearly said, "I'm sorry Tom, but I'm_ not_ going to be the one to tell _my sister_ what a _fucked up_ place this world is. I'm not telling her that she can't feed a little girl or that she has to leave her where she found her. Bound and about to be raped because We. Don't. Have. _money!_ She will hate _me_. Me. Not the world. She won't understand. So, if I have to _burn_ the bloody planet and rebuilt it so that she can be happy _I will_. So, Tom I'm asking you to have a _little_ faith in me."

"Fine." Tom spat and they continued in moody silence.

Tw streets later, Charles sighed, angry with himself for getting mad. He put his arm around Tom's shoulders, squeezed a little and let go.

_He's afraid and I don't blame him. A lot of people are going hungry. But I'm not doing that to my sister. No matter what I have to do, I'll do it. She has suffered enough, I'm not going to add 'letting little girls die to save yourself' to the list of horrors she has lived before ten. Getting your house burned, losing your parents, living on the run and then living on an orphanage is enough. I'm sorry Tom, but Abby comes first._

On their break at work Charles started on the fourth bed. The other three were already finished and they had the dinner table and chairs already done. Tom has been working on the bedside tables, one desk for each room and the wardrobes. They still have a few things to do and then they will be finished with this part. Since winter will be over soon, they will start making some of the repairs the house needs, that couldn't be done on winter, and Abby will start moving her garden to their land. Charles hoped they can finish in a month or two, at least enough to move out of the orphanage. They were not safe there anymore. Even Mrs Cole noticed how the older boys would take off running when he enters a room. One of them even jumped out of a window...of the second floor...and continued running even with a broken leg. Tom thought it was hilarious. Penelope giggled. Even he had to admit that his lips twisted upwards. He'll deny it was a smile.

"George, Can I talk to you for a second?" Charles said to his ginger haired boss once they finished at work and were cleaning up for the day.

"Make it quick Charles," George said distractedly, holding up to cherry coloured pieces of wood and comparing.

"I have noticed you seem to have a lot of rich friends. I was hoping you could recommend me to them to play at their parties. I'll give you 3% of what they pay me."

"Make it five and you have a deal. That is, if you can play, I won't be making a fool by sending a kid that doesn't know how to play."

Charles took out his newly made violin. He had to visit a music store in downtown to buy some parts but if it could make him some extra money it'll worth it. He played a long complicated piece putting his soul and magic into the music because this _had _to work. He didn't have any more hidden talents. Thankfully, it had the desired effect and by the end of the piece George was suitably impressed, with tears on his eyes, siting looking at Charles in complete awe.

"Well, I'll be child. You just keep surprising me. I'm sure I can get you jobs with a talent like that."

Tom was also looking at him with awe shinning in his dark eyes. This was the first time he plays since Germany. It felt good; he hadn't realized how much he missed it.

"My sister is also brilliant with a piano, but we don't have any here." Charles added hopefully. They desperately needed the money with the extra mouth to feed.

"Don't worry about it. I'm sure those rich types have pianos on their home." George said dismissively and Charles breath in relief.

-0-

Abby and Penelope were staying with Martha from now until the house got finished in an extra room above the shop. Four in a room was too crowded for comfort. Penelope was having nightmares. Waking up screaming, crying and sweating every night and was really scared of the older boys in general. He also thought they'll be happier and safer there. Martha was trilled to have company. Abby told him she has been feeling lonely since the death of her husband a few years ago.

"Is there something you can't do?" Tom asked, a little mad and frustrated as they were walking towards the orphanage. Charles thought about it, _is there something he can't do? Yes. Lots of things._

"Tom there's nothing a person can't do if they set their mind to it. Specially brilliant people like us." Charles finally said, a diplomatic and vague answer with a little flattering on the side. Tom stayed quiet the rest of the way, thinking about what Charles told him.

Good, because he really doesn't want to have this conversation. The thing is that he may know what he was supposed to be doing but it doesn't mean he'll get it right from the first time. It was like knowing all the rules to playing baseball but never having actually picked up a bat. Once you pick it up, knowing all the rules won't help your hand-eye coordination. So he has to practice like everyone else. His only superpower was being a nerd and having the experience that comes from the many times he has been alive. And that was not always an advantage. It was hard not to be jaded or cynic as the years go by and life lets you down.

He stopped by Martha's and asked her to put a good word for him to her friends so he can play at their parties. Not many people were celebrating, just the rich ones that profit from the bad times. Luckily they were the same ones that bought fresh flowers, so she knew a few by name.

"We are going tomorrow to the cottage." Charles told Tom as they rounded a corner on their way to the orphanage. "We can clean it and see what needs immediate attention. I'm hoping we can move soon."

Tom nodded distractedly, still lost in thought.

_Maybe if I watch him closely I'll learn his secrets. No one can be that perfect, right? But he's not perfect is he? No, he is not. He makes mistakes, gets mad, has a short temper for everyone that is not named Abigael, and now maybe Penelope. So no, not perfect, but the amount of knowledge he has... Is not normal. Next he'll tell me he can speak fluently ten languages or something equally absurd. Charles was an enigma; he should have been named Riddle instead of Winter. It would have fitted him better than it does him._

Tom knew that the only reason Charles was nice to him was because Abby told him to be and he can't deny his sister. But sometimes he thinks, hopes, that maybe Charles has come to care for him a little. He knows that he has come to care for both of them and would be devastated if or when they decide to leave him. Now that he knows what is it not to be alone and to have someone 'on your side' like Charles told him. He can't go back. It will surely kill him. Like he was before they came, dead. A breathing, moving, talking shivered just thinking about it.

"Are you cold Tom? I told you, you should have bought the warmer coat, even if it was brown." Charles said with a frown.

Tom smiled and said, "I'm alright." More than alright because he was almost sure that Charles cared. Even if the boy would deny it.

-0-

Martha was watching Penny while the rest cleaned and made the house liveable. They have been working since dawn and the house was looking better already. Right now it was noon and Abby was eating her lunch while following butterflies.

"It looks good." Charles commented while they ate.

"We still need to fix the roof and some parts of the walls and floor." _Just call him Tom the Black Cloud, _thought Charles.

"But it's clean." He tried again.

"It will take us the whole week working non stop. If we're lucky" _Maybe Black Cloud was a too nice of a name for him, Thunder and Lightning Cloud would probably suit him better._

"Then it's a good thing we asked for a week off work." He tried for the last time.

"We need to buy things like pots and pans, sheets, soap and a lot of other things." _So maybe Tornado and Hurricane with exploding Volcanoes on the side._

"Jessh, stop raining on my parade." Charles said, annoyed. Tom gave Charles a 'You're a moron' look. " I have four parties for this week. We will have the money" Charles assured him.

"Is Abby accompanying you?" Tom asked

"To two of them. We make double the money that way." Charles looked at him and said, "You need to come to those two. I don't want Abby to be alone even for a second."

Tom nodded, by now used to the fact that Charles was an overprotective brother and that he had good reason to be. Tom has seen how the allure causes some men to act and knew about them being part veela.

_Thank the stars that Abby has such a weak allure, if not... best not to think about it. Bloody mess it would've been, _Charles thought with a frown.

They went back to eating their lunch.

"Tooom! Come play with me." Abby said some time later.

"Maybe later Abby. I have to finish this before the light goes out." She pouted but picked her broom and started singing and dancing while doing very little actual cleaning. Charles sighed. He really shouldn't have told her about Snow White or taught her all the songs. She has been singing all the songs on marathon. Tom is throwing him murdering looks since this morning. Maybe next time he'll tell her about the SpongeBob song about F.R.I.E.N.D.S. or the Never Ending song. _Tom will kill himself and make sure I die with him_. He smiled just thinking about it.

-0-

Tonight Charles had his first job playing the violin. He had his best clothes, hair properly styled and his shoes were shinny and polished, if not a little worn. He had to admit that he made a handsome picture. The party was in the posh side of London in the townhouse of some military commander and his wife. He had to leave three hours earlier to arrive on time. His instructions were play for an hour and then slip away quietly. For now he was just eating the food and drinking the wine in the kitchen, waiting for his time to play and observing the organized chaos in the kitchen.

"He kid, your up. Leave the wine glass." One of the servers told him a while later.

He got up, brushed the crumbs away, took his violin and exited the kitchen. There was a tall place set up for the musicians and that was where he went. The spotlight blinded him and the room was a little too hot, the atmosphere stale, like a cracker that has been left outside too long_. _

He has been practicing mixing music and magic, it has been an experiment of sorts. He wanted to know what exactly he could do without actually making his instrument magical or doing spells, just playing. It has been hard work and a lot of improvising but he has discovered that emotions are more important than intention when playing. He hasn't done it with other people in the room so this was going to be a nice experiment.

He breathed deeply, relaxed his posture and adjusted the instrument in his shoulder.

Let's see what happens if he uses the emotion of happiness, joy and excitement. For a moment he felt bad about using people as guinea pigs in his quest for knowledge. The moment passes and he starts his piece. While playing he let memories run free and the magic flow naturally out of him. He thought about Abby's smile. Tom's excitement at seeing the house coming together. The first time he came to this world and saw his parents and sister, safe and happy. Day's in Germany running around with Abby, feeling free, content and happy. His mother's warm eyes. His parents slow dancing in the kitchen. Sophie's first word, first steps. Holding her. Playing with his baby. Memories as Harry, seeing the castle for the first time, knowing his parents loved him... the music reaches to the final crescendo and stops.

The audience stands as one and claps their hands with tears in their eyes. Everyone was happy and relaxed. And it was unanimous that this is the finest music they have ever heard.

Whispers of 'What is his name?'

'That's Charles Winter.'

'Is that child really seven?'

'He must be prodigy!'

'It was worth coming to hear this, I got to give my compliments to the Commander!'

'I have to have him for my next get together!'

He was pleased with the results. He will have a lot more work and the experiment was a success! And he didn't even have to command the magic; he had just let it flow with the music. He guessed that if he deliberately forced magic into the music the results would be exponentially higher but this were muggles who didn't know about magic. It was best not to push his luck. He had to get home to document the results, then do an experiment where he holds back his magic and another where he pushes it so that he can compare the results; but first "Charles Winter, nice to meet you... Yes I have been playing all my life. My service is not cheap and my time is limited but for a pretty lady like yourself I can make the time." He said with a charming smile and a mental gag.

-0-

It was the end of the week and they were spending their free day on Diagon Ally. Charles was staying with Penelope on the ice-cream shop while Tom and Abby were on the bookshop. Penny's face was a happy mess of strawberry ice-cream while he was drinking a cup of coffee and laughing at Penny's trilling tales of adventure and danger on the flower shop. Abby had him addicted to coffee and right now he needed all the caffeine he could get.

The week had been Hell. Pure hell and he was bone tired. From dawn till sundown working on the house. Then his nights have been spent playing in different houses, some nights working in two or three houses, taking a nap and getting up with Tom to continue on the house. He stopped taking Abby after the first time. She was not used to be up at night and he was too worried about her to concentrate. No less than ten men, and fifteen women, asked him and Tom about her. All thinking about what a lovely bride she would be for their flabby spoiled sons. _Over his dead body!_

He saw Professor Griselda Marchbanks walking by and decided to say hello. She had been nice.

"Good evening Professor Marchbanks. What brings you here?" He said a little loudly over the noise in the alley. She stopped, a little surprised that someone called her, and looked around. When she saw who was talking to her she looked a little confused until she remembered who he was.

"Hello again Mr Winter. I was just taking a break from the castle with the excuse of buying some much needed supply's" She then noticed Penny "and who might this pretty little lady be?"

"This is my sister, Penelope Winter. Penny this is the transfiguration professor at Hogwarts, the magical school, Griselda Marchbanks. Professor would you care to join us?"

"I can see the resemblance. She has blue eyes like yourself and blonde hair like your older sister." He just smiled; not correcting her that Penny was blood related. Penny beamed and looked immensely happy. Charles knew she was still insecure about being a permanent member of their weird little group. But, seriously, if he took Tom Riddle, future murder of his future parents, she doesn't have anything to worry about.

"I guess no wrong can come from a quick cup of coffee. The school will just have to survive a few minutes without me." She ordered a cup with red velvet cake and asked. "I must say I'm curious about what your friend, Mr Riddle, said the last time we met. Where did he hear such a thing as wandless transfiguration?" She asked in a seemingly uninterested voice but Charles could tell that this has been eating her up. The fact that she remembered was telling. He made a mental note about her curiosity and for a moment just looked at her and thought about how much he could tell her or go the easy route and pretend ignorance. His need for some intelligent conversation won out over caution. He rationalizes that more good than bad could come from this. Probably. Most likely, anyway. A plan was already forming in his mind.

"Professor if you were to lose your voice in some tragic accident, would you be able to do magic?" He asked instead of answering, looking at her intently.

She didn't see where he was going with this but still humoured him. "Well, there's such a thing as wordless incantation but most people can't use it. It's very difficult, you see. Transfiguration is possible to do wordless and a master is supposed to manage it. Normal people can't do it. Truth is that most don't even try. But I suppose... that if a person can't speak they will learn to do how it, if they are persistent and dedicated. So, yes I would be able to do magic if I ever tragically lose my voice and no potion can cure it." She looked pleased and satisfied about her answer. Charles smiled in anticipation of breaking every single 'rule' society had imposed on her.

"If after said accident you are taken to a place where there's no wood to make wands or dragons to take their heartstrings or unicorns to take their hair, tell me, would you be able to do magic?"

"No voice and no wand? Tis' not a wizard if they don't have a wand!" She said, a little scandalized. A hair coming out of her bun in her agitation.

"What if you were born deaf and couldn't hear the Latin incantations, what would happen to that person? Will he or she be able to do magic?" Charles pressed, not letting her go into a tangent about what made a wizard.

"I have never though about it. Now that I think about it I have never seen a mute or deaf child go to Hogwarts... but I know for a fact that not everything is curable. These are some interesting questions that have big implications. What do you think Mr Winter?" By this time the tall blond at the table besides them has stopped pretending he wasn't listening and was blatantly staring at Charles, waiting to see what he responded. His newspaper long forgotten on the table.

"I think that a person survives and for that he must adapt. Have you ever read Darwin's works Professor?"

"No I haven't Mr Winter. Is he a muggle?"

"Yes, you should read it. It's most interesting. Story short is that he believed the fittest of a species were the ones that survived to bare children. And to survive an ever-changing environment one has to evolve. A species incapable of evolving will die out. To bring it back to magic, if you couldn't learn to use your magic in this new situation, you won't have the advantage to survive and will potentially die or lose your magic."

"Why lose my magic?" She looked interested but as any wizard, scared of the possibly of losing her magic.

"There have been fish that have lived in underground caves so long that they have lost their eyes. It's part of evolution that what you don't use you lose. So tell me Professor. Is it possible to do a wandless transfiguration?"

"Well... I guess there _must_ be a way... and someone _really_ powerful might be able to achieve it." She admited uncertainly. The_ idea_ of a wandless transfiguration was mind blowing and not something she could easily get her head around.

Charles was beyond exited; he was in academic heaven. For the first time in _years_ he was having an adult conversation with an adult about magical theory. He has missed this so much. Tom, Penny and Abby were great but they were still kids and easily distracted. And she had not even made one condescending comment about his age.

"Really now? And what does powerful really means? Amount of raw power or control?" He asked with a smile, twirling the cup of his now empty coffee cup.

"Both." She said with certainty. One part of her amused that she was having this kind of intelligent conversation with a seven year old. Most of her collages were not even capable of simply talking about new possibilities in magic, so set on their ways that they are.

"Can someone that has never studied magic, knows nothing about wands or the limitations of magic do a wandless transfiguration?" He continued asking, trying to get her where he wanted her.

"Of course not! Proper education gives you the tools to use your magic otherwise horrible accidents might happen."

"I think they have stopped being tools and become crouches."

"You insolent child! You know nothing of magic or our world." The blond from the next table spat, turning his body to face Charles. Even Marchbanks looked doubtful of his assessment.

"Mr Hyperion Malfoy, you're welcome to join our table and present your point of view." Malfoy looked completely startled that Charles knew him by name without even turning his head to see who had talked to him so rudely.

"Professor, did Tom give you a pencil like this?" Charkes continued. She looked at the pencil and nodded. "And did he asked that you to turn it to metal without a wand?" Without looking at the pencil in his hand he handed it over, giving her a completely solid metal pencil. She looked at it in complete shock, studying it from every angle and then looked at Charles, her mouth hanging open. Malfoy reached for the now metal pencil and she handed it to him.

"To answer your question Professor, he got the idea that a wandless, wordless transfiguration was possible from me."

By now Penelope was bored to tears but was still looking at Malfoy from the corner of her eye to make sure he didn't get near. Charles noticed that Tom and Abby were walking towards them. "It has been fun professor but I have to leave now, my family is waiting for me. It has been a pleasure Mr Malfoy. Next time know that you are welcome at the table. Come now Penny, we are going home."

"What was his name Griselda?" Malfoy asked, looking as the boy went to meet two other brats.

"Charles. Charles Winter." Griselda said, still in shock. _A seven year old did a wandless, wordless transfiguration like it was nothing. He didn't even looked at the pencil!_ She looked up and saw he was still close by talking with his siblings.

"Mr Winter!" She said as she walked up to him. "This has been most enlightening, would you care for another cup of coffee, say next Saturday at three?" She asked excitedly.

"Yes! Say yes. We can then talk to the goblins!" Abby exclaimed excitedly, like the goblins were fluffy bunnies she could pet. Tom gave Charles a long suffering look that said he had tried his best to dissuade her from that notion and failed miserably. Charles nodded, even the best couldn't hope to change Abby's mind in the best of the times. Tom's valiant effort was noted but he was still going to be the one that was accompanying Abby in her crusade. Tom looked sullen and petulant but resigned to his fate.

"That will be lovely Professor. I will see you saturday at three then." Charles said with a big smile, noting how Malfoy heard. Charles was sure that Hyperion Malfoy would find an excuse to be here saturday at three, so he must think of how he can take most benefit from his interest.


	7. Chapter 7: Home

**Chapter 7: **Home

March 1934

It was saturday morning and they were going shopping for the things they needed for the house. Thankfully, the house was almost done and they were planing on moving soon. Charles' night job had been a success and they had enough money for everything they needed to buy for the house, for food and a little for saving.

"No, Penny, we already had breakfast no more sweets." Charles said, taking her hand and leading her away from the sweet stand.

"Ok Abby you have your list?" She showed him the list with an exasperated look. This was the fourth time he had asked.

"Just making sure people! Then go with Tom, I'll take Penny and we'll meet up at noon for lunch in our usual place. Please, don't be late. Tom watch over Abby and Abby make sure Tom is not so serious the whole day." Abby nodded seriously while Tom gave Charles an 'I'll get you back for this' look and walked away. Charles took Penny's hand and led her to a store that sold fabrics for sheets and curtains.

"What color do you want you're bed sheets Penny?" She looked in wonder around the store. This was the first time she'll have her _own_ new sheets.

"I get to choose the color?" She asked in amazement

"You do. So, go and pick something you like." He said, expecting her to move around the store, but she didn't move from his side

"What color is your favorite?" She asked, looking at Charles with her big blue eyes full of love.

"Blue-green."

"Like this one?" She picked one that was more green than blue.

"No, like this one. The color of your eyes" He picked up one that was more blue than green with gold detailing.

She smiled brilliantly "You like the color of my eyes? Really? Then I'll take this one!"

"Yes. You have beautiful eyes. But you don't have to choose it because I like it. You can choose your own favorite color." He said with a smile.

"This is my new favorite color." She stated seriously

"Ok hon, if that is what you like." He took a royal purple with gold details for Abby, a black with silver details for Tom and a silver with black details for himself. He chose white curtains for the entire cabin. In times of war, colored sheets were a luxury, but he wanted this house to become their home. He wanted Abby, Penny and Tom to call that place a home. A place they could happy and safe.

Ok, two off the list. A few hundred things left to buy.

"You're late." Charles said when Tom and Abby at last entered the bakery. They made cheap and tasty food. He was more relived than mad though.

"Someone couldn't decide on colors." Tom said looking pointedly at Abby

Abby gave Tom a betrayed look and huffed. "There were a lot to choose from." She defended hotly in her thick german accent.

The food Charles had previously ordered arrived and Abby and Penelope started eating while talking about all the stuff they had bought.

He looked at Tom and said "I need your help with something I've thought about."

Tom looked at Charles with interest, Charles had never asked Tom for help in anything, ever. "What have you been thinking about?" Tom asked, interested in what Charles could want his help in.

"Well money actually. We have enough to live pretty well for now but I want something more stable. Something that doesn't need us to work every hour of every day, but for that I need the start money. So this is what I'm thinking..."

* * *

><p>"Remember, stay together. Once you finish in the bookstore go to us to tell us the next store you want to visit... and Abby take the time to read to Penny on the bookstore, if you can start teaching her about the letters do. All right?"<p>

"I know, I know Charles, we've been over this a thousand times. We'll stay together and safe." Abby assured Charles. Charles hugged them and continued with Tom to meet with Griselda Marchbanks. She was already there waiting and Malfoy was there as well. Charles smiled in victory.

"Good evening Professor. Mr Malfoy it's good to see you again. May I present you my good friend Tom Riddle. Tom, I'm sure you remember the professor and this is Mr. Hyperion Malfoy. I had the pleasure of meeting him last week." Tom greeted Griselda and nodded to Malfoy. Charles could tell they were measuring each other. While they were busy in their staring contest Charles went to get a coffee for him and tea for Tom.

Tom frowned at his choice "You're addicted to that stuff." He said with distaste

"Abby's fault." Abby insists on coffee every morning and Charles has grown to like it. With milk and sugar, of course. Need of caffeine has also helped the process.

"So I've brought a few books I'm not sure if you're familiar with, they're the theory of magic..." Marchbanks began with an excited glint in her eye and for a few hours they debate. Malfoy, non-surprisingly, was a traditionalist and change was something he opposed of, Charles debated a more modern view and Marchbanks was a traditional that was open to change.

"You cannot depend on your wand to do magic, if in an emergency your wand is taken, lost or broken you'll be defenseless like a newborn." Charles said for what feels like the thousand time.

"I understand Mr. Winter but there's no way for a person to learn to do wandless, it's mostly accidental magic people do. There are no books, no teachers and no safe way to teach it. A thousand years ago people used staffs and before that no one knows how they did magic, there's no book written on it. If we ever had that ability it has been lost in time. " Griselda said and he almost lost it and smiled in victory, but of course he doesn't, and puts on a poker face.

"Professor, what if I can prove you wrong? What if I tell you there is a way to learn it?"

"I would say you'll be the most important wizard in more than a thousand years." She said and this time he actually smiled.

Charles gave a stick to Mr. Malfoy "Is this wood?" Charles asked him. Malfoy looked at it, casts a spell with his wand and finally nodded. Charles asked for it back and gave it to Tom. "Tom transfigure this to metal." Tom took it without a word, stared at it for some seconds and gave Charles a metal stick.

"You must understand Professor, Mr. Malfoy, that something that is improbable does not mean it's impossible." He looked at their faces and saw respect, awe and a little fear. Now he just needed for Malfoy to take the bait.

"You taught Mr. Riddle to do wandless magic?" Malfoy asked, utterly impressed.

"I did." Charles said, a little smugly .

"I'll like to buy your services. For me and my son." He said immediately._ Brilliant!_ Inside, Charles was doing a victory dance but the game hadn't finished, so he maintained an uninterested air. He needed a lot of money, not a third job with poor pay.

"I'm sorry Mr. Malfoy my time is precious and this skill is a hard one to learn. Tom here has worked more than two years and still has a long way to go. He's my friend and that's why I only charged his parents half a million."

"Half a million for your friend?" Griselda eyes were wide and Mr. Malfoy looked at Tom as if he were reevaluating his opinion of him. If his family can pay half a million they must be rich. And a rich mudblood was a step up from a poor mudblood.

"I'll make it worth your while. We can talk numbers at a later date." He said and Charles nodded, his face showing doubt that Malfoy can actually pay the price. A complete contrast to Malfoy's face that was set and stubborn, confidant he could pay whatever price.

By now, Charles was having a hard time keeping the smile of his face and he was grateful when Abby came back. Until she told him that Penny was feeling sick. He looked at Penny in concern and quickly said his goodbyes.

"Next saturday same time same place Mr. Winter?" Mr. Malfoy asked as he is leaving.

He looked at his family, they nod eagerly to his unasked question and only then, he nodded to Malfoy and the professor.

"Until next week then." Charles said and they walked out of the Alley and into London.

"It worked!" Tom screamed jumping like a mad man. "He fell for it! Charles if this works out we'll be rich! No more working, no more secondhand stores, no more worrying about money!" He said, in what for the first time that Charles can remember, childish enthusiasm. Charles also laughs because it worked!

"I told you to trust me." Charles said with a smug look.

Tom shook his head and said, "Don't get a big head yet! Are you sure he'll pay so much for it?" He asked worriedly.

"I'm sure. People like Malfoy is obsessed with power. He will pay whatever I ask of him. One because he has the money to pay it and two because he won't be able to help himself. I have played his greatest weakness and desire, to be the most powerful wizard. I also insulted him by insinuating that he can't pay for my services. He will jump in a sea of sharks if I ask him to." Charles said with an evil look.

"Charles, you can be right devious at times." Tom said with a large smile.

"I think that's why we get along so well."

"Oh? We get along? This is news to me. Is your idea of 'getting along' involve a clown dress?"

Charles looked at Tom innocently. "I'm sure I don't know what you are talking about."

Tom would have believed him if it he were not used to Charles ways. "I'm not buying it, Charles. I know my clothes didn't change on their own."

* * *

><p>Today they were finally moving to their new, for them at least, home. Charles and Tom were at the orphanage packing their stuff and whatever Abby didn't take with her.<p>

Tom was in good humor, he even made a joke. A lame one, but one nonetheless. Charles never thought so much stuff could fit in this room, they might actually have to make trips. Or... he could stop being stupid and do a shrinking charm. He sometimes forgets that he doesn't have to do things the hard way if he doesn't wish to. He started shrinking their belongings and Tom followed him with various degrees of success.

"Stop. You're getting frustrated and that's a sure way for an accident to happen. Breathe, center yourself, find your magic and gently guide it."

Tom continued practicing on the rest of the stuff while Charles started putting the doll sized things in a bag. Mrs. Cole was waiting for them when they went downstairs. She looked and smelled drunk.

_She must have seen us enter earlier,_ Charles thought in dismay.

"Mrs. Cole we won't be returning. Thank you for your hospitality." Not! but whatever, Charles didn't want her to send the police after them for having run away.

"You! You don't think I know what you are, but I do, you see. _I do_. You four are demons. You don't think I know what happened to those boys? But I do. _I do_. They talk at night. Wake up screaming and sobbing your name. You're a DEMON! A demon I tell you. GET OUT OF HERE AND DON'T COME BACK!" She threw her bottle at Charles aiming for his head but only hitting his arm, cutting it a little.

Tom looked furious and Charles was a little surprised. Tom struck back with his magic, pushing her into the wall and breaking her arm. She dropped to the floor crying and holding her broken arm.

Tom looked like he was just getting started, and Charles debated if he should try to stop him or not. She beat him, starved him and let others almost rape him. Is not as if she doesn't deserve it.

_She hurt Charles!_ Tom thought in anger._ She could have killed him and then where will I be? Stuck on this hell with her starving and beating me until she gets tired and kills me. With no more Abby, no more Penny, no more Alley... no more Charles. I'll kill her. After all the abuse he may have spared her, probably not, __but would not have torture her... much. But hurting Charles was unforgivable. _Seeing Charles bleed has led him to a terrible thought. _ He could lose Charles. Charles could die and then he will be all alone again.._

In the end Charles stopped Tom from going further. Tom can get revenge later. When he is an adult and can hide the evidence...and when it won't scar him for life. Charles grabbed Tom's hand when he was half way to Mrs. Cole and said,

"Leave it Tom."

Tom continued like he hadn't heard him. "Killing her will not make it better, my friend." Tom was still on his way to her so Charles brought out the big guns.

"Come. Abby is waiting for us." Mentioning Abby has the desired effect and Tom thought about what would Abby think if she where to see him right now, about to kill a woman.

Tom looked at Mrs. Cole hatefully one last time, turned and walked away. They walked in silence to Martha's flower shop.

"You're hurt!" Abby said in panic when she saw Charles' arm while Penelope started crying.

"Don't worry, it's just a scratch. I'm all right." He said with a smile, ignoring the puddle of blood he was making on the floor.

"Just a scratch!_ Just a scratch_ you say! Have you seen yourself?" Tom yelled, looking furious.

"Now, now, dearie. Calm yourself. I'll fix it up in a jiffy." Martha said with a worried smile. "What happened Charles?" She asked.

"That's not the point," Tom interrupted, "The point is she could have_ killed _you!"

"Tom. Stop it, you're scaring the girls." Charles said looking at him warningly and looking pointedly at Abby and Penny who were now sobbing looking very scared. Tom closed his mouth, but it was clear that it was not the end of the conversation. "The Matron of the orphanage was drunk and angered." Charles said to Martha while she took out her wand and healed him.

"Now all better. See nothing to worry about." Abby and Penny calmed themselves after many assurances that he was truly alright. But he has one on each side and he was betting they weren't going anywhere for a while.

"I have a little house-warming gift for all of you. Now gather 'round. Come closer, here one for each of you. They are the keys for the house and a permanent portkey. Just say 'I want to go home' while holding it in your hand. I put them on those chains so that you can wear them as a necklace."

"Beautiful" Abby said in awe and hugged the older woman.

"Pretty" Penny added with a wide smile. The key necklaces of the girls had pretty stones to make them girly while she left the boys plain, just like they would have preferred.

"This is perfect, it will make going back and forward to London easy. Thank you Martha, you didn't have to." Charles said with a large smile. This was the first time someone gave them a present, and it was a thoughtful one.

Making a homemade portkey wasn't exactly legal. Charles could now deduct the real reason Martha doesn't wish to go back to the magical world. She must have not been on the right side of the law. It didn't bother Charles at all, to the contrary he was eager to hear all the tales of this seemingly harmless old lady from her law breaking days.

"Oh, I wanted to. You are all such great kids. Keep coming here. Don't forget this little old lady now." She said sternly with a hint of sadness.

"Of course we won't." Charles said, meaning it.

"I'll keep coming to help," Abby added with a shy smile.

They all said their goodbyes and used the portkey for the first time.

* * *

><p>"Abby take those boxes up to your room. No, not those, the ones beside the fireplace, and help Penny unpack." ... "Penny honey, don't put that on your mouth." ... "Tom stop glaring a the wall and help me with the kitchen."<p>

They all looked at Charles sourly and started moving slowly. Charles pretended not to hear them complaining.

"Come on people I want this place set by tonight." At seeing their mutinous looks, he added, "I'll make cocoa for everybody after we finish." With the promise of cocoa they continue on in slightly better moods but Tom's mutter of 'slave driver' receives a lot of nods.

With liberal use of magic they clean and organize the kitchen. Now that they were not on the orphanage they felt more comfortable about doing casual magic. Tom was still drooping the occasional box but he was getting better at controlling it.

"Tom are you ok?" Charles asked after a while. Today was a little intense for all, moving to a new house and all, but especially for Tom. Today he confronted his long time tormentor.

"Yeah." They looked at each other for a moment and Charles got it. Tom was not ok but didn't want to talk about it. Charles could respect that. They continued working in silence.

The living room has a couch in front of the fireplace with a coffee table in between, some chairs and a big rug that covers must of the wooden floor. All the walls on the cabin have big windows that give a breathtaking view of the valley. Almost all it was made out of wood and worked by Tom and Charles on their free time in their job. Abby and Martha had made the big fluffy overstuffed navy blue pillows sown together to make the couches and chairs comfortable. Tom was extremely proud of his coffee table, as he should be. He made an excellent work and some beautiful detailing. The rug was navy colored to match the pillows and was bought, of course.

Charles lights up the fireplace and the whole place takes a warm, homely feel. Charles looked around and felt proud of what they managed to do on such a short amount of time. It has been a few hard months, working all day and night but looking around he felt happy with the results. He went to the kitchen and started making the promised cocoa with a smile on his face, glad that things were finally working out.

He took two cups of cocoa and signaled Tom to take the rest. The smell brings Abby and Penny down and they all make their way to the couch. Penny sat on top of Tom and Abby held Charles hand while putting her head on top of Tom's shoulders. There was a relax atmosphere that came from a combination of contentment and tiredness.

_Yes, it was worth it. All of it, _Charles thought with a happy, tired smile.

_Is this is how having a family feels like?_ Tom wondered,_ Is this what I've been missing? If my family had been alive would it feel like this? _

* * *

><p>Charles woke up in the middle of the night to Abby getting in his bed.<p>

"Abby, what's wrong?" Charles asked in concern, a yawn splitting his face.

"I miss mommy and daddy," she answered with a broken voice.

"I know honey. I miss them too."

She hugged him and stayed quietly crying until she fell asleep. He combed her hair with his free hand and wondered if they will ever see their parents again. Every day news come from what it's happening with the war. It tells of people dying in explosions and of the unidentified bodies they are finding. Civilians mostly. He doesn't promise her that they will see them again because he's not so sure anymore. Divination is such an unreliable subject. Charles looked at Tom to see that he was looking back at him from his bed on the other side of the room. He stares at brown eyes until, eventually, he falls asleep.

When Charles woke up he sees that in addition to Abby he has Penny on his bed. He sighed, hoping this was because it was the first night in an unfamiliar place. It was a good thing they made the beds big. He unwrapped Abby's hand from his chest, Penny's foot from his legs and someone's fingers from his hair. He needed a shower.

Thanks to the charms that were already in the cabin from Martha's time here they had running water in the house and a warming charm in the shower. He took out a fluffy white towel and headed for the bathroom.

He took his time under the warm water, thinking. He has not found any of the other 'eight' as he refers to the others in his mind. They should have made more specific plans.

He was not even sure if they were in London yet, heck he doesn't even know if they are _alive_. Jake told him that not all will survive the trip here. As things were going, it could take years to find them. He also hasn't got a clue of why this time, this place is so important. Something must or will happen that will tip the balance either way. But what?

He heard the door opening but ignored it, it was probably just Tom that got sick of waiting outside. It was frustrating that he couldn't do more for his mission, his reason for being here, but there's nothing he _can_ do yet. He's seven, so he can't just go out there and start fighting intergalactic beings that have no corporeal body and can only be in this plane by taking over bodies. They were hard to fight when he was 45 with a strong body and stronger magic so he can't go looking for fights. That's a one way ticket to death. And he can't just leave Abby...or Tom...or Penny, they still needed him. Besides the mission that he can't do much about he has a few other problems.

He has to make a deal with Mr Malfoy soon. If he dies he wants them to have money so that they don't have to work like he had to.

"Charles, are you dead? You're taking an awful lot of time." Tom said from inside the bathroom

"Morning to you too, Tom."

Charles sighed loudly at having his shower interrupted but turned off the water, grabbed the towel to start drying himself. Charles was not shy at all, but Tom immediately turns around and exits the bathroom.

"Really, Tom? We've been living together for months." He said, laughing that his plan to get Tom out of the bathroom worked so beautifully.

He puts some pants on and a casual shirt and gets out of the bathroom to start making breakfast. They have what would later be called a refrigerator, right now it wass called a cold box and it is what it sounds. A box with cooling charms.

He started his homemade version of an automatic coffee maker and takes out the flour, milk, eggs and sugar to start mixing for what eventually will be blueberry pancakes. He also puts out some bacon to fry later. With the smell of coffee and pancakes the house starts coming alive. Abby, still in her pink bunny pajamas with her hair flat on one side and wild on the other, starts helping Charles.

Eventually they have everything ready and Tom has already set the table. They eat mostly in silence, everyone still sleepy. With mutters of pass this or that and Tom complaining that they have to get better curtains. Ones that block _all_ the sun. He dropped the matter when Charles asked him if he was a vampire or had any intention of becoming one.

* * *

><p>The week was spent lazily.<p>

The days consisted of reading, teaching Penny and helping Abby with her vegetable garden. Charles was out most of the nights playing in some party or rich house. Most nights, by the time he got back everyone was already asleep. Tonight he couldn't fall asleep, too many things to think about: The mission, if they'll have enough money, if his parents are alive, if he goes to Hogwarts who will take care of Abby and Penny...

"What's wrong?" Tom asked from the other bed.

"A lot of things." He said quietly and immediately regretted it. This were his problems, there was no need to worry Tom more than he already worried.

Charles heard Tom get out of bed and come to him. He looked at Tom, moved to the side and let him get in. They stay beside each other in silence. Like they used to do in the orphanage when they slept side by side on the floor. Tom doesn't demand that he talk and he's glad of it. They are better suited for the silence.

After a while Charles said, "Tomorrow I'm going to the Alley, I need some books about the law and if I find what I'm hoping to find I'll also stop by Gringots."

"All right. Want me to come with you?"

"Yeah."

It was a mutual beneficial arrangement, Charles relaxed with the familiar sounds of Tom's breathing and the warmth he emitted while Tom enjoyed the wonderful feeling of having Charles magic and aura surround him.

Tom wanted to comfort Charles but if he is truthful to himself, he also wanted to be close to what he now knows to be Charles combined magic and aura. Unlike other people, Charles aura was almost tangible and it made him feel... safe and protected.


	8. Chapter 8: I Could But I don't

**Chapter 8: I could, but I don't**

"Here we go." Charles said, pointing at the part of the page he's reading to Tom. "If I'm to be Head of a pureblood family, even a new one, I'll get adult status. Which means that I can open a family vault in Gringots and put up trust vaults to the minors in the family, which will be you three."

After a long pause, Tom said quietly "I'm not part of your family."

"That's why you'll be under heir status. The head of the family is free to choose his heir, even if he's not related. The thing is that if something were to happen to me, you will have to take care of the girls. Are you all right with that?"

He nodded hesitantly "If you're sure."

"Perfect then. Let's send an owl to the ministry so they can send us the papers."

"But Charles you shouldn't do this. You'll get us all in trouble!"

"No, I won't."

"So lying to the ministry will not get you sent to Azkaban?"

"Tom, relax, I won't be lying." He said, walking towards the Owl Post.

"So you are a pureblood head of family in your country?" Tom said with sarcasm dripping from his voice.

"Is all about how you define those words. Pure blood is a vague term. I'll use the medical term of the phrase. My blood is disease free, the only things that are in it are the ones that are supposed to be there. Hence my blood is pure. The quill they send only activates if you _think_ you are lying."

"Are you sure?" Tom asked uncertainly. Charles finished witting the letter, tied it to an owl in the owl post, paid the fare and continued walking with a stressed Tom following.

"Positive. Trust me, Tom. Come on we'll wait for it somewhere that has coffee. I'm guessing it will take some time for them to send it back. I wrote that it was urgent, but it will still be at least an hour of waiting."

"Why are you really doing this?" Tom asked when they got to the ice cream shop since it's the only place that sold coffee. Really, the alley needed more shops. Charles ordered two cups of coffee and sat in a secluded table.

"For a lot of reasons." He answered once he found a table. "First, so that I have the authority to protect my family and home. I don't want someone to have the authority to put us back in the orphanage. Or to be able to take Abby and Penny away from us. Also I can't promise I will not make enemies, if I were to die I want to know that the girls are protected and that some bastard can't take advantage of them. I know that you can protect yourself and I hope you will protect them."

"Nothing will happen to you and no one is taking them from us." Tom stated firmly.

"Of course not. Not after I do this. I'm also hoping to open a business if my other plan works." Charles evaded mentioning Malfoy because they were in public and anyone could hear.

"What kind of business?" Tom took the change in conversation readily, not really happy with casually talking about Charles' death.

"I'm not sure. Either a game store or a day-care center."

"A game store like Quidditch supplies?" Tom asked with a pained face

"No. It's a game I used to play a long time ago. It's called Paint Ball or something like that. It's a game where everyone has this guns with bullet paint balls that when they hit you, you get a splat of paint and a bruise. You have to have at least two people... unless you're doing target practice, but it's better in groups. I'm thinking making the prototype guns and the paint myself. I'll make the mixture of paint so that it cannot be reproduced and that only my bullets work for the guns. And maybe a safe, small one for kids that doesn't hurt and one for adults that does."

"Why must it hurt and bruise for adults?" He asked amused

"The pain helps you dodge." Charles said, smiling evilly. "Besides selling the equipment I was also thinking of making different rooms to play inside. Some for children, others in the dark, some that look like forests, even special rooms for aurors." Charles takes a few sips of coffee and adds "Some without gravity, others to do on broom... If I can only have the start money I know it will be a success."

"It seems you've been thinking about it a lot."

"Not really. Just stole the idea and made it for wizards." He said with a big smile

"You're shame less."

"And unrepentant." They smile at each other. "So what do you think about it?"

"It's the best-worse idea I have ever heard." Tom said.

"Tom, you hurt my feelings." Charles said, with his hand on his chest soothing his not-so-broken heart.

"Really Charles, I thought you were smart. Most of the clientèle for that type of store will be at a boarding school year round."

Charles opened his eyes in realization. "I knew there was a reason I kept you around."

"You're such a jerk sometimes."

Charles ignored the comment in favor for thinking of his other possibilities. "You're completely right and a day care center combined with a primary school has more benefits. It will be a lot more harder, but the possibilities..."

"I'll help you... on one condition." Tom said with a calculating glint on his eyes.

"State your price." Charles said, putting on his poker face.

"I want a library on the house."

They look at each other seriously. Tom knew Charles was going to say yes, and Charles knew that Tom knew but that didn't mean he was going to make it easier.

"On the first floor?"

Tom nodded.

"How big of a library exactly?" Knowing Tom the library ends up bigger than the house if he doesn't clear this point.

"Not excessive."

"Define excessive." After telling him that it doesn't count as lying if you have different definitions and never clear up which one is the correct, Charles was not taking chances.

"We can talk about later, your owl has arrived."

Charles looked at him suspiciously but took the papers from the damn bird and groaned. _This will take forever._

He started on them, while Tom went to order more coffee.

"Tom?"

"Hmm?" He looked up from the german newspaper he has read for the past hour.

"You can legally change your last name, now that you will be the heir of the Winter line."

Tom stared at Charles with an unreadable look, showing no emotion on his face for a while.

"You'll be stuck with me." Tom eventually said

Charles frowned, then smiled. "No, Tom. You ARE stuck with me. That won't change because you change your last name. It will just make it official for the rest." He said, looking at Tom seriously.

Tom nodded "I'll think about it."

Charles also nodded and went back to the papers.

An hour later he gave up.

"Let's go home. I won't be able to finish this today like I'd hope." _Damn the ministry and all their stupid protocols._

"Penny, why are you _screaming_?" Charles asked in a pained voice. She's been running and screaming for almost an hour now and his head can't take it anymore.

"I'm a monkey!" She said, and continued with her horrible imitation of a 'monkey'. He has to go over the animals' lesson if she thinks that's a fair imitation.

"Tom please do something about it." He asked pleadingly

"No way in hell. Last time I tried something she attacked me and used me as a tree... Are you done with that yet?" Tom asked pointing at the stack of scrolls he's been working on.

"Almost. Then I have to send a copy to the ministry and another to the goblins. They will check it and decide if they recognize the Winter family as a pureblood family of the English Wizarding World."

"And they don't ask your age?" He asked curiously

"The wizards here are not known for their intelligence but by the pureness of their blood." Charles said with distaste.

"You are such a jerk to anyone who is not your family."

"Nonsense Tom. I'm still a jerk to you and you're family." He said teasingly. Tom hit him on the head and went to the kitchen. "Violence is never the way." Charles yelled at his back. Tom ignored him and continued making himself a sandwich. _Never be said I didn't try._

He finished with the last paper and took out his pocket watch.

"Penny! Is time for your potions." He heard a groan and steps running in the wrong direction. "Penny don't make me find you." Silence. He sighted. Ever since she's been with them she's been drinking potions to counter her poor treatment at the orphanage. She was still skinny and small but was looking healthier.

Charles went upstairs and headed for the attic, her hiding place of choice. "Penny come. Big girls drink their potions without fuss."

"They're yucky!" She said with an over exaggerated face of disgust

"Then I'll make you muffins after you drink them to wash out the flavor."

She looked appeased but not convinced.

"What type of muffins?" She asked seriously. _Like they were bargaining about someone's life and not types of muffin. She has spent way too much time with Tom. Mental note: hit him for teaching her to question me._

"Strawberry muffins," Charles said after thinking what kind of fruits they had left.

After a moment, she nodded and came back to the kitchen with him. After giving her the potions and putting the batter to the oven he went looking for Tom and Abby. He found Abby in her garden and Tom drinking tea and reading a book close by.

"I have to go to the Alley to send an owl with the papers and I was thinking we should buy an owl. Do you want to go with me and help me chose?" He asked them.

Tom closed his book and Abby ran inside to be the first to reach the bathroom. Charles went back inside to check the muffins and found Penny still sulking.

"Pumpkin we are going to the Alley to buy an owl. Go clean yourself and put nice clothes, the muffins will be ready when you come down." She beamed, anger forgotten, and took off running to her room.

He yelled the usual "No running" that went completely ignored.

Charles headed for his room and found Tom already changing. He went to his wardrobe and took some black pants and a blue button down shirt and a wizard robe. He looked up to see Tom was ready.

He went back downstairs, took out the muffins and waited for the girls while munching on a muffin. Penny came back first, with her hair a mess, took two muffins and yelled "Ready!" She was wearing all the colors of the rainbow with extra emphasis on pink, but he was letting her choose her own clothes so this was the end result.

"No, you're not. Go back upstairs and bring me a comb." With a groan, she ran back upstairs and brought a comb. The only thing he knows how to do on a girl's hair was a braid, so that was what he did.

When he's done Abby and Tom are in the kitchen eating muffins. Tom transfigured Abby's coat into a proper witch robe so they were ready.

"Let's go." They all held to their key necklace and said, "Martha" to appear in the back room of Martha's store that has a door that leads outside. Before going outside they go to find Martha and greet her.

Half way there Penny tires of walking so Charles carries her. They finally arrive and asked someone to open the portal. Charles went directly to the owl post to send the papers as quickly as possible and after that, to the pet store.

"I want the white one!" Penny screamed in his ear.

"No this one!" Abby said pointing to an owl in a sorry state. Poor thing looked like he went through a war, survived and then his home exploded.

He sighted, Abby and her love of saving animals. Tom, like the coward he was, abandoned him and went to see the snakes. Charles studied the owls available and reached the obvious conclusion that there's not much to choose from.

"The white one!" Penny insisted. _Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to bring them_. He went to find Tom so he could help them decide and found him holding a small snake.

"She is pretty and good mannered." Charles said after listening to their conversation

"Can you understand her?" Tom asked curiously, he has stopped being surprised by Charles a long time ago. He was more resigned than frustrated about Charles' never-ending well of information.

"I can but I can't talk to her like you. You have to be born a parselmouth to have the addition in your mouth and vocal cords that make it possible to do the sounds. I could force it, but it would never be quite right." Charles said a little sadly.

"I have read that Salazar had that ability and that it is a blood ability," Tom said quietly.

"He had and it is. I'm guessing it was from your mother's family."

"My mother? Wouldn't be my father? She died in childbirth, if she had been a witch she would have survived."

"Tom Riddle is a muggle name, but you told me Marvolo comes from your mother's father right?" Tom nodded. "There was a Marvolo Gaunt and the Gaunt family was the last surviving line of Slytherin." Charles told him.

"Are you sure?" Tom asked.

Charles nodded.

"Are they alive?"

Charles hesitated "We can check when we have the money to do a blood family tree in Gringotts."

Tom nodded and Charles added "Buy the snake so you can have someone to talk to when you tire of us. And come help us choose a bloody bird."

"I'm not letting the house become a zoo. You will both agree on ONE pet and share the responsibility of taking care of it." Charles said firmly when he came back to find them both holding an animal on each hand.

They decided on the puppy that he _knows_ will grow up to be a monster. It was definitely a bad idea to bring them.

Charles finally decided on a normal brown owl that looked smarter than the rest. After finding the food and care items of their respective new pet they finally, _finally!_, get out of the store and to the ice cream shop.

Tom, Charles and Abby ordered coffee, Penny had pumpkin juice. Abby and Penny also had a _small _ice scream under Charles stern look. No need to have them on a sugar high.

They get home tired but happy with their new pets. Penny and Abby were arguing about names.

"How about Owl for the owl, Dog for the puppy and Snake for the snake." Charles suggested, everyone gave him a 'You're so stupid' look and ignored him. "Everyone's a critic." He muttered and started making dinner with the background noise of them fighting about this or that name.

On Thursday he gets an owl from Malfoy asking if they can meet the next day on Hogs Head. He writes a positive reply and goes to find his new owl to send it. Charles mostly lets him live the life of a free owl and only calls him back to the house when he needs him or the bird is feeling to lazy to hunt for food. Rabbit the Owl gives him a filthy look. He's not sure if it is because of his poor naming skills or that he interrupted something. Nevertheless the owl leaves with his note and he goes to find Tom and share the news.

The next day Tom is waiting for him in the bookstore while he goes to talk to Mr. Malfoy. He goes inside Hogs Head to find it as unappealing as always. Really, the wizarding "world" of London needs new places. He sees Hyperion on a table out back and heads there, hiding his disgust of this place. _Cleaning charms are not so difficult are they?_

"I'm glad you could make it on so a short notice, Mr. Winter." Malfoy said with his usual arrogance, but with a lot more class than his future generations will be. Charles knows he has worked for a lot of the money he has, so that has made him a little more conscious of the realities of the workingman. In the last decade since his father's death, Hyperion Malfoy has tripled the family fortune. Making him one of the most successful businessmen in Europe.

Charles nodded, made the usual pleasantries and sat down. He knows that Malfoy has gained some information that he thinks that can get him the upper hand in this conversation to either intimidate or interest him into teaching wandless magic. Charles has a lot of secrets, the question is which one he discovered or which one he _thinks_ he discovered. They order their drinks and for a while only stare at each other. Each one waiting for the other to begin. In the end Charles has more patience and Malfoy begins.

"This week I saw some interesting papers... about a Mr. Charles Winter applying to be head of family with a Mr. Tom Riddle as heir." He stares at Charles. Waiting for him to spill his every secret to fill the silence. Charles nodded, like if Malfoy was telling him something of unimportance to him and he's just humoring him by listening.

"I could get them accepted for you. This very week, if you so wish to. My family is very well-connected, in addition to wealthy."

"I have no doubt." He simply stated and offered no more. Malfoy would have to do more to get him interested.

"I could also pay you handsomely for your services."

"Can you really?" He asked unemotionally but with a hint of challenge

"One million for me and my son."

"No. If your going to waste my time Mr. Malfoy you shouldn't have asked me here." He said sternly with a cold edge. Drinking the last sip of his drink and putting it down. Ready to leave in the next couple of minutes.

Malfoy stayed silent, looking at him, reevaluating the situation.

"Three million."

Charles looked at him in distaste. "Are you conscious this will be the work of years? That I will have to work for you and your son possibly weekly for years? Daily at first?_ That I'm the only person who can possibly teach you_? I'm not going into this if the benefit is so low. I am in no rush so I can calmly wait for someone else to make a better offer."

Dare he say it? Charles can see the beginnings of respect in his eyes. He obviously thought he was making a deal with a seven-year old.

"Prove you are exceptional and that is really worth it." He eventually said. Charles looked at him and nodded. It's a fair thing to ask. He looked around to see what he could do.

He snapped his fingers and everyone froze, it is as if he had stopped time. But he hasn't really messed with time, is just the people inside that are frozen. With a lazy wave of his hand everything is clean, even the windows and people's clothes. It's something he does weekly back at home but Malfoy doesn't need to know that. Then he changes everyone's clothes to that of a clown, a cheap trick he uses to amuse Penny and annoy Tom. He looked at Mr. Malfoy and asked "Is that enough?"

"Yes. I think that is enough." He looked at Charles greedily and added "10 million for five years."

"Three. The papers accepted and we do a vow of silence for personal information that we learn in those years. We also sign a contract that will state that you or your son cannot teach my methods to anyone else. I may also need of your political pull in some moment."

"That is... acceptable." He accepted with a grimace obviously not liking that Charles lowered the time and put some unspecific number of unspecific favors. But this is not the first time he uses political favor to get what he wants and will certainly not be the last time.

"Before you agree to this. Let's talk a little more." He takes out a journal and pen from his coat pocket. Malfoy looked in distaste at the obviously muggle things but did not comment. "What is the name of a person that you trust implicitly?" Charles asked, ready to write the information.

"I trust no one." Malfoy stated simply after a moment of silence

"Your wife?" He prodded

"Will prefer to be a rich widow." Malfoy responded with a bitter smile.

He nodded, not surprised. "There's a technic that I want to do with you. It is something that will let me know how your magic flows and any possible blocks you may have. The purpose of this is so that I'm better able to guide you and help dissolve those blocks so that you reach your full magical potential."

"And what does that have to do with a person I trust?"

"I was hoping not to do it personally and just observe the results."

"Can you tell me more about it?"

"Not until we sign the papers but understand that we will get to know each other really well. I want you to make sure if that is a price you're willing to pay."

"That's why you asked the silence vows?"

Charles nodded. "You will have no secret I will not know and I in turn, will not have any secret you will not discover." Charles said with a grimace.

After a long pause, weighing the pros and cons of such a thing he decided to agree. After all they will have secrecy vows and he will also know all of the secrets of this strange boy. "I agree to it and will make sure my son understands."

Charles looked around and everything went back as before. Nobody noticed that for a few minutes they were frozen in clown clothes.

"You could have killed them all and they wouldn't have stood a chance."

"I could have." He admitted plainly because it's the truth but after a pause added "But I didn't."

"You could rule the world."

"I could."

"But you don't."

"But I don't." Charles said with a smile.

He looked at Charles and Charles knows he doesn't understand. He can't _imagine _a person with this power that doesn't abuse it.


	9. Chapter 9: I will change it

Title: Old Souls

Rated T/M

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

_Summary_

_He died trying to save the universe... thousands of years in the future. Now he's back in his reincarnation of 1926. Meet Charles, one of the many reincarnations of Harry Potter. He comes to 1930 with Big Plans, none that involved Tom Riddle._

**Chapter 9: I will change it**

"So? How did it go?" Asked Tom the second he saw Charles. Charles smiled victoriously

"10 million galleons!"

"WHAT!" He screamed with wide eyes and mouth hanging open

"Shhh Tom, people are looking." Charles said, laughing at his face

"10 million galleons! Are you serious? 1 galleon is 100 pounds so thats..." He looked in shock. "We're bloody filthy rich." He whispered, then screamed "We're RICH!" Then he gets a look of despair "Or are you leaving me now that you have money? It makes sense. Why would you need some orphan kid around? I'll just take some things and..."

"Stop Tom." Charles puts his hands on Tom's shoulders and looked at him seriously. "Stop this nonsense. You are part of our little fucked up family, wether you want it or not. I'm not leaving you behind. Not now, not later... Thief's promise." He finished with a slight smile.

"Thief's have no honor." Tom said more calmed with a small smile at their private joke.

"Stop saying crazy things, be glad Abby is not here to listen to such nonsense." Charles said with an even wider smile "Speaking of Abby. Come, let's go _home_ and celebrate. I'm sure the girls will be happy with the news." He let go of Tom's shoulders but grabbed his hand and walked like that until they got out of the wards and portkeyed home.

Back at the house a round of screaming, dancing and singing happened once Charles told them the good news.

"I knew you could do it brother!" Abby tells him proudly and gives him another hug.

"Yes, Charles, you're the best!" Penny yelled.

"Come, lets make a cake and a big dinner to celebrate!"

"CAKE!" Penny yelled and Charles looked suspiciously at Abby, that was looking a little _too_ innocent with wide eyes that clearly said 'I have _no idea_ how that happened'

"How much sugar have you already eaten Penny?" He asked her suspiciously

She puts her best innocent look and said "Not much at all, brother dearest."

"Just for the brother dearest I'm willing to let it slide today but don't think that it will work every time!" He had a strong suspicion that Abby was teaching her all of his soft spots.

* * *

><p>The next day the official papers from the ministry that named Charles Winter as the new Head of the Pureblood Winter Family with the named heir of a Mr. Tom Marvolo Riddle. With Abigael Winter and Penelope Winter are officially part of the 'Winter' family. He has to go to Gringotts today to sign the contract with Mr. Malfoy and open the family vault with the trust fund for each one.<p>

"We need to have a family meeting!" Charles yelled so that everyone that was upstairs could hear him. They all sat on the couch with Charles standing in front of them.

"Today I'm going to the bank to sign the contract and to open a Family vault with trust funds for each of you so that you can all have your share. I was thinking of sharing it equally, 2.5 million to each one. Does anyone have any objections with this?"

"But you are the one that made it possible. You should have the bigger share." Tom said

"We are a team, a family. What's mine is yours." He responded seriously. "Besides that reason, I want to invest some of the money in a project. It's a risk and I can lose more than gain so I only want to do it with my part." He doesn't add that because Penny and Abby are _women_, they don't get a share of the money if he dies. Tom, being the only other male, would inherit everything. If Tom dies the money would then go to the Ministry of Magic fund. Unless he, as head of house, puts it on a trust fund on their name. He also has to put it in a will that any house, property or business will be divided on equal shares. If not they will be left penniless and on the street or at the complete mercy of their brother's good will. Not that he doesn't trust Tom... but better safe than sorry. Tom might decide that the money is better used in taking over the world. Might say he was investing in their futures.

Abby looked at him seriously and said "My money is your money. I trust that you will be successful with whatever you do." He nodded, it's her choice and she choose to risk it with him.

"I'm with Abby. You haven't failed me yet." Said Penny in a high voice and adoring eyes.

"I have already told you I will help you with you're crazy project. For the price of a library, of course."

"Of course." He smiled at them all. Happy with their trust in him. "Tom do you wish to accompany me to Gringotts?" He asked

Tom nodded. It's time to know who is his family is.

"We not?" Penny asked with a pout

"If you want. Today is saturday and I agreed to have a cup of coffee with Professor Marchbanks so you both have to behave. While we are at Gringotts I expect you both to stay put on a store until we come to get you. And while I'm with the professor you have to come every half hour and stay on the main alley."

"Ice cream?" She asked with a hopeful expression.

"You been having too much sugar lately. But if you have done all you're homework I'll buy you a toy."

"Yeaah! Toys!"

Funny how a singular turned into a plural so easily in her mind. After Penny runs to her room, Tom turns to Charles amused

"We're filthy rich and you offer her one toy and only after she does her homework?"

He just smiled "When she studies numbers and can make the same argument, we'll see. Besides no sense of trowing away good bargaining material. How else will I be able to make her study?"

* * *

><p>"Mr. Winter please come inside, Agramant is ready with the papers." A goblin tells him<p>

"May the sun shine on your gold." He said the traditional goodbye in Gobbledegook...from a few hundred years ago. The goblin looked shocked, but Charles leaves it to the fact that he's a wizard and not that is an ancient dialect long forgotten to all but the goblin historians.

"Agramant, might your enemies bleed by your hand and his gold become yours." He greeted him in goblin language from his time as a goblin. "Mr. Malfoy is good to see you again. If we can get started..."

They read all the papers, signed them and gave them back so that a copy can reach their vaults.

"Key please." Charles gave him his newly made key and the money was transferred.

As they are getting up to go Agramant comments "I'm wondering... Mr. Winter, How can you possibly know a goblin language a few hundred years old." Mr. Malfoy looked at him intently, very interested in knowing the answer as well.

Charles just smiled mysteriously and answered with an annoyingly vague comment. "It does one good to wonder." In his mind theres an evil laugh at their looks, on the outside he looked calm and wise.

For the first time in the meeting Agramant smiled and nodded. Secrets are treasures one has to protect as well as any gold, goblin rule.

"Will I see you for the cup of coffee later Mr. Malfoy?" Charles asked as they leave, Malfoy nodded and they parted ways. Charles noticed that Malfoy was walking even more proudly than usual. _Pleased, from buying me as a mentor. _

Tom was waiting on the reception area for him. He immediately noticed that something was wrong with him. The paper he's crushing on his hand lets Charles know that he did the blood family tree. It includes if a person is alive or dead and he just found out most of his family is alive... and he was left in the orphanage. Charles took his hand and said nothing. This is not the time or place to talk about it.

"Are you going to go home?" He asked a while later because he could tell Tom wanted to rave, scream and break something. Tom stayed silent for a while but then shakes his head.

"I don't want to leave Abby and Penny on the alley alone. We are on dangerous times."

Charles smiled, nodded and squeezed his hand. He has never been more proud of Tom, than at this moment.

* * *

><p>This time it was not just professor Marchbanks and Malfoy waiting at their usual table, but a few others as well.<p>

"Professor Marchbanks, I'm glad you could make it." Charles said with a pleasant smile taking her hand and kissing it like it's proper.

She smiled widely at the beautiful boy with impeccable manners. If only her students were such good mannered. "Oh, child. Call me Griselda. I wont be your professor for a few years." She said with a laugh.

He opened his eyes in fake surprise and a very pleased smile. "Only if you call me Charles." He bargained with a wicked smile.

"Oh Charles, the ladies will love you when you're older! This are colleges of mine, the arithmancy Professor, Hesper Gamp-Black wife of Sirius Black and Charms Professor Miranda Goshawk. Ladies this is my coffee partner of late, Charles Winter."

Hesper Gamp-Black was a beautiful no nonsense witch in her fifties. She had a short stylish hair with reading glasses that are popular in this time. Miranda Goshawk looked pretty young, specially for a Hogwarts professor, maybe in her early thirties. She looked like a kind and good teacher. The only thing Charles knew about her was that she will be the writer of the charms book in the future.

"We were just curious to meet the famous Mr. Winter that Griselda can't stop talking." Said Miranda trowing a teasing smile to Griselda.

"It's a pleasure to meet you both." He said charmingly, kissing their hands in the traditional way of gentleman. They all sit and order coffee and sweets with the instruction to keep the coffee coming. They started talking about this and that until Griselda takes a bag full of books to continue their last debate.

"I see you did you're homework." Charles said with a teasing smile.

"I did and found some things you might find interesting."

"I see you have Calles in you're collection. I hope you don't use it in favor of you're argument because his book is pure trash. He didn't do a single experiment to prove his theories. It will be just too easy for me to destroy any argument you have using him."

"Not a single experiment you say? Now that you mention it, I can't remember reading about prove or positive results other than past history. Well... We can leave him out then. No need to make this easy for you." She takes the book out of the table and puts it back on the bag.

"I can already tell this will be interesting." Hesper Gamp-Black said with pure glee in her eyes at what promises to be a spectacular debate of magical theory.

...

"No, no no! You see, when a person creates a new spell, he does all the math work and calculates all the angles of the wand movement but this is done with the purpose of sealing the intention so that when another person does the spell they don't have to be thinking about it and the results will be the same. It's a great tool to recreate the same results when you're working with something delicate in a group, but wizards have abused this and stopped thinking about what they are doing..." and they continue with the debate.

Tom is mostly hearing attentively and commenting here and there. Penny and Abby stop every now and then, for Charles to see they're alive and well. Just in case, they have a tracking charm on them, with a health monitoring charm for his peace of mind. Tom is to look at them from his chair every once in a while to make sure no one bothers them, and they know to stay within view.

..."No, no, no! How can you say blood has anything to do with power? Do you even know what blood is? Do red blood cells mean anything to you? How about white cells? It's a gene like the one that makes the color of your hair... but more than that. The magic also chooses the person." Charles said an hour later forgetting they don't know a thing about genetics so then he gives them the basic information. This takes about an hour of explaining theory, experiments, probability and the very nature of magic.

..."Yes inheritable gifts only come from a magical parent, but also..." Two hours later.

..."Do you know how many non magical are? How outnumbered we are? Their technology? How good they are at killing? Do you have any idea?"

..."A few million will die in this war. Do we have_ one_ million magicals?"

...You want war with non-magicals? Do you know what you'll be getting yourselves in? Do you think they're helpless? Do you know what bombs are? and more importantly do you know of nuclear bombs? biological warfare?" Some screams of 'Muggle loving' and 'blood traitor'... he has his suspicions that Malfoy is paying them under the table but can't prove it.

..."In some seventy years they'll have _six billion people_ living in this world. _6 billion!_ They'll be on the moon in few years, while the magical world still think it's made of cheese."

..."When was the last spell created? It was some 250 years ago! We have lost the will to better ourselves, to progress as a society."...

"Charles, it's time to go." He looked at Tom and Abby with Penny sleeping in her arms. When did they get here? It's dark out. He must have lost track of time. The debate was intense, Malfoy almost hits him at one point and Marchbanks's hair is in disarray from screaming to Malfoy. Hesper Gamp-Black is re-reading some books to refute Charles points on arithmancy and the charms professor is just enjoying the show with a wide smile on her face, assuring everyone that she hasn't had this much fun in years. A crowd has formed around their table, some content on just listening and others taking sides. For most this is the first time they hear facts about muggles and a few will be going home with a lot to think about.

"This was fun. I'll see you all next saturday! Good night." Charles said with a wide smile.

"Until next saturday Mr. Winter, I'll be waiting with those books I told you about. It will finally prove to you that I'm right about this." Hesper Gamp-Black said with a glint in her eye at the chance to prove that she is right and he is _wrong! _She just cant prove it, _yet_.

"We'll see, just make sure to double check Hamper's equation with Millan's third rule of numbers." Charles said with a devil-may-care smile that made Hesper's competitive side rise to the challenge._ She will not fail!_ Her pride is on the line. She admits that this is the first time she has come to a stale-mate with someone on _her_ subject. She had arrogantly began to think she was the best. Today has been an eye opener, a seven year old could do what her mentor couldn't! To soothe her battered pride is that he is no ordinary seven year old. She hasn't meet anyone quite like him.

"I will be here to watch the fireworks. This has been most delightful! It truly has been a pleasure Mr. Winter." Miranda Goshawk, the young charms professor said with a brilliant smile.

"Charles, please. I will see you ladies next saturday. Mr. Malfoy we'll keep in touch. To the rest, I hope you can make it here next saturday at three. You have all been great fun."

A round of goodbyes was heard.

He takes Penny off Abby and they walk out of the anti-portkey wards and go home.

* * *

><p>After the girls are sleeping Charles took a wine bottle out and signaled Tom to sit in front of the fire with him. He gives him a cup and sips from his. The first bottle gets empty and he goes to find the stronger stuff. After what probably was four hours of silence he spoke.<p>

"I will change it." He said simply but Charles understood, change his name to Winter.

"If you're sure."

"I am"

They continued drinking the bottle in silence, the cups long forgotten by now. After Tom is well and truly drunk is when he starts crying and talking.

"They abandoned me." He sobbed over and over. "They didn't want me an-and le-left mee in th-that _HELL_." Charles just holds him, waiting for him to let it all out. "Why-why would the-they leave mee? Was I not worth the trouble? Were they too good for me?"

After he's a little calmer Charles whispered "You have us. An unusual family but a family nonetheless. You have a big sister that makes sure you smile, a big brother that's a lovable jerk and a little sister to spoil rotten."

"You're only a month older and just a jerk." He said with a broken voice with a small watery smile.

"Punk, don't contradict me. I'm always right." He said but hugged Tom closer. They end up passed out there, sleeping on the floor in front of the fire. Charles with his head on a pillow and Tom using Charles as pillow and mattress.

* * *

><p>9:00 am, Breakfast Hall in Malfoy Mannor.<p>

"Father, where is Mother?" Nine year old Abraxas Malfoy asked tentatively. He has not seen his mother for four months now. It is not unusual that he doesn't see her for long periods of time, but even for her, it's been long. He has been worrying that she died and his father didn't considered it important enough to mention it.

"Your mother is with her lover in france."Hyperion said without taking his eyes off the newspaper.

"Oh." said Abraxas, not knowing how to respond to that.

"Our private classes will begin today at one. You have some appointments until three, when you get back you will ask an elf to take you to us."

"Father are you sure we need a Mentor? We are _Malfoy _after all. Who can be better than us?" Abraxas asked in a timid and confused voice. After hearing all his life about the superiority of the Malfoy's, he doesn't understand who could be better.

"You_ dare_ question me, Abraxas?" Hyperion asked in a cold voice, putting the newspaper down and looking at his son with a furious glare.

"O-of course not father. I'm j-just curious." Abraxas stuttered, dreading his fathers wrath.

"Malfoys do _not_ stutter!" Hyperion takes a deep breath to hold back the hand that wants to strike his son. "You will speak clearly at all times. Just for this time I will indulge your curiosity but do not make it a habit. This person has discovered the ability to learn and teach wandless magic. Do not let his age fool you. He is powerful and not as forgiving as me. I have paid a fortune for private classes, so I want you to learn as much as you can as fast as you can. I also want you to study how he talks, how he walks and how he commands attention and respect. I would have wished him my son, but instead, all I have is you. So you must learn how to imitate him. Make me proud son."

"Of course father." Abraxas said, feeling the most profound hate for this boy that has won his fathers approval when he has not.

* * *

><p>"Please, please! No singing today. No monkey impressions. No running or screaming. Let's make today International Quiet Day For Brothers That Have Killing Headaches." Charles pleaded<p>

"How 'bout you make Better Not Drink Next Time day? Hmm?" Abby was _not_ pleased with their drinking but stills gave him a cup of coffee and a plate of warm blueberry muffins, bless her heart.

"Why Tommy still sleeping?" Abby asked from her perch in Charles lap.

"Penny a little lower, please honey. He's feeling bad. Best leave him to sleep it off."

"He's sick?" She asked worriedly. Charles takes a moment to clean the mess of strawberry jam off her face.

"Don't talk with you're mouth open. Yeah, Tommy is feeling sick. So today play outside and no running inside the house. Tell Abby to keep teaching you the letters. Outside."

He goes up to their room to find that Tom is still sleeping and that an owl is on the window. _Must be Malfoy. Bloody birds. So much magic and they can't built an instant system that involves no shit._ It's a letter with dates and times for their 'classes'. _God! three years and he doesn't have some else for the ritual. I should have asked for more money_.

He asked for them to meet today in...now actually. He spent most of the morning sleeping... until the girls thought he was dead he came to 'save' him. Or so they say. Most likely they were hungry and didn't know the recipe for muffins. He grabbed some clean clothes, left a note to Tom and went to find the girls to make sure they don't try to wake up Tom come lunch time. He's sure that would not be wise... or safe.

"I'm going to start the magic classes with Mr. Malfoy and I'll be back in a few hours. Behave for Tom and whatever you do, don't wake him. Now rules." Charles said when he found them playing dolls outside.

"No running in the house." Said Penny in a monotone voice.

"No working with fire." Continued Abby in a bored voice

"Eat properly." Penny said disgruntled

"Don't give sugar to Penny and make sure she drinks her potions." said Abby in german so that Penny doesn't hear.

"Do my homework." said Penny with the long suffering sight of a martyr.

"Take care of Draconian Steve The Fluffy Dog." Since no one could decide on a name, the poor thing got stuck with all. He would have felt worse if the damned dog wasn't so annoying.

"And for today stay at home and make sure Tom is alright." He added. "All right, love you all." They hugged him and he activated the portkey Malfoy sent.

* * *

><p>A million thanks to all that reviewed. If anyone wants to be my beta, I'll be more than happy to accept!<p>

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	10. Chapter 10: Hyperion

Title: Old Souls

Rated T/M

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

_Summary_

He died trying to save the universe... thousands of years in the future. Now he's back in his reincarnation of 1926. Meet Charles, one of the many reincarnations of Harry Potter. He comes to 1930 with Big Plans, none that involved Tom Riddle.

Beta: Celena Black

-Last Chapter finished with Charles going to Malfoy Mannor-

**Chapter 10: Should have asked for more**

"You look horrible." Is the first thing he hears once the Portkey has dropped him inside of what looked like one of the many drawing rooms of Malfoy Mannor.

"Morning to you too." He said in a chipper voice that was all pretend, looking around at the place he arrived in. It had windows overlooking the front of the manor; the straight driveway and the iron gates were clearly visible in the early morning light. The rest of the room was decorated in blue and cream tones with gold highlights and a prominent fireplace on the far side of the room.

"Are you hung over?" Malfoy asked suspiciously, inspecting his clothes and sniffing the air.

"What makes you say that?" He asked with an expression of complete innocence on his face, if not a little offended at the suggestion.

Malfoy just raised his eyebrow. "Toddy." A house elf appeared. "Fetch me a sobering potion." He commanded imperiously without even looking at the creature.

"Toddy, make it two." Charles said quickly, before the elf popped away.

"It is perhaps fortunate that you did not meet my son immediately. He will be arriving in a few hours; surely you wouldn't want to give him the _right_ impression of you. He might doubt my commendation of you." The man drawled with some amusement and a hint of a smirk, "Are we beginning today?" He asked more seriously.

Charles smiled faintly at his try at a joke, Malfoy was relaxing around him. "Yes. We might as well get the worst over with." He said with a little distaste.

Malfoy looked a little wary of what Charles might consider 'the worst' of the three years but does not ask.

Toddy appeared with the two potions, "Thank you Toddy, you been a life savior." Charles said seriously, The House Elf glanced at him suspiciously before promptly popping out_. _

"You thank my House Elf but not me?" Malfoy asked incredulously, a little peeved at the lack of decorum. One simply does not thank a House Elf it gave them ideas above their station.

"You didn't get off your lazy ass to get it, he did." was the flippant and unapologetic reply. Charles drank the potion all at once, making a grimace at the horrible taste.

"I prefer you sober, you're less crude." The wizard decided, "And how is it that a seven year old managed to get drunk? My nine year old hasn't even tried a sip of wine." He appraised the young man-child stood before him with poise that was well beyond his meager years.

"A seven year old gets drunk the same way a forty-five year old gets drunk. Lots and lots of alcohol." The young boy replied with a hint of a smile.

"Have you ever acted your age?" He asked equal parts curious and exasperated.

"I do a passable job at acting when the situation demands it. Don't worry I won't say anything that is not age appropriate to your heir." Charles said with a wide smile that was meant to reassure but fell short due to the evil glint in his eyes. His answer also left Malfoy wondering if he didn't have an answer for everything.

"Merlin help us all in what you believe to be 'age appropriate'."

"Let's find a suitable place to practice while the potion takes effect."

"Is this room not appropriate?" He asked a little affronted.

"This fancy, plush sitting room with all the clutter?" Charles asked sarcastically, pretending to look around. "No it's not. We'll create our own space."

"You mean the House Elves will create it, surely?" Malfoy corrected a little alarmed.

"No. I meant what I said. Let's go outside."

Malfoy led him out of the room and into a maze of corridors with their audacious lamps, life size statues and murals. It was a museums dream. Centauries old furniture perfectly preserved and ancient artifacts from all around the world decorated the hallways as casually as flowers in other houses. But, for Charles, the most prominent feature was the silence. Complete and utter silence. Not the chirp of a bird or the crackling of a fire or the soft murmur of conversation in another room. It was the silence of a tomb, the silence that screamed. The only thing that could be heard was the soft stomps that their feet made in the carpet floor. Even his breathing and heartbeat sounded too loud, too disturbing in this place. Charles didn't know how used he was to noise until now. Their little cottage was never without sound. The sounds of the wood moving, the howling of the wind, the birds shirking, the crackling of the fire, Abby's laugh, Penny's cry, Tom's shouts, the barks of the dog, the hoots of the owl, the small steps of someone walking. A never-ending parade of sounds that one takes for granted until is not there. At the end of the day all of the stuff was simply that, stuff, albeit expensive to flaunt their wealth. But Charles could never feel confortable in this complete absence of sound that made him deaf.

They walked out and Charles was immensely relieved to be out in the open, he was starting to feel claustrophobic in the seemingly never-ending corridors with their eerie silence and ever watching portraits. For the first time Charles comprehends how truly enormous the Manor is from the outside. He has never seen the back of manor or the far-reaching grounds. "How much of this valley is yours?" He asked curiously. It's a beautiful valley in its own way. Not the wild, untamed expanse of nature that they have as a backyard but a man made, manicured but nevertheless beautiful valley. He could see in the distance fountains and small trails that lead to beautiful gardens and hidden wonders.

"All of it." Malfoy replied with expected arrogance. Charles nodded and started walking away from the lake and the house. By now the sun had completely risen and there was a pleasant heat, dissipating the last of the morning fog.

"We need to find a place where we can't be seen from the house." He said to Malfoy.

"There's a place, over the other side of the lake where the forest is older you can't see the house if you walk far enough." He followed the direction of Malfoy's gaze….

"Perfect. Let's get going then."

"I can have a house elf get us there." Malfoy offered as he gazed at the distance between. Malfoy already seemed tired from the walk out of the house.

"Rule number one, Mr. Malfoy, will be not be depending on a House Elf's magic for functions we can easily perform for ourselves, such as walking. I know they are powerful and need no wand. My job is to make sure that _you_ are powerful and need no wand."

He looked startled so Charles continued explaining. "They have learned to use their magic without any outside tools, foci or amplifiers. Think of magic as a muscle, if you don't use it, it grows weak. But magic is much more than a part of your body; it's a part of a greater whole. You don't own your magic. You just borrow it from the Earth and when you use it, you give it back. Being a magic user depends both on your body and magic's will to chose you. Think of magic as a living being, it has veins that cross all around the universe. Thankfully one vein crosses Earth, otherwise we would not have magic. Sometimes a string of magic will separate from the collective conscious and with enough time it will develop it's own personally and traits. It may decide that it's happy being a flower or a tree and we will have a new magical plant. It may take a humanoid appearance and interact with mortals. When those mortals are non-magical you will have a lot of folklore on Gods, Goddesses, spirits and demons. They might decide to mate with a horse and create Centuars. Usually, they get bored after a few centauries and go back to the magic stream. You'll hopefully understand this more towards the end of our three years."

"Is that what happened to merpeople? Magic mated… with a fish?" Malfoy asked a little out of breath from all of the walking but curious enough to ask. He had been curious about the merpeople as a child but little is known about them other than general, biased, descriptions.

"No, that was different. They are not as magically infused with magic for that to have been their origin." Charles explained. "Some theorize about them being a population that some 50,000 years ago went underwater when a volcano destroyed the atmosphere. After hundreds of generations living in water their bodies adapted to survive underwater."

"What made them think that?" Malfoy asked with a frown on his face.

"They have almost the same DNA as humans that indicate that at some point we were the same and they also have the same mutations in their genetic code that is not present on humans witch leads us to believe there was a common ancestor." Charles explained. He had already had many conversations explaining genetic to the Malfoy patriarch, so when Malfoy didn't ask anymore Charles wrongly assumed he had understood. Charles has never been terribly smart or studious but throw a person far enough in the past and even the most mediocre student seems like a genius.

They continued walking in silence for an hour until they made it to the forest. Charles felt refreshed and energized from the walk but Malfoy looked red, sweaty and was panting. Malfoy was right, when he said this was an old forest. Charles touched one of the trunks, closed his eyes and concentrated. He asked politely if they would be willing to make a clearing for them. He wasn't sure if he was successful until he received a question, not in words but in images that flashed for a second in the front of his mind and disappeared just as quickly. He understood what the trees were trying to tell him and responded that yes, they will treat this place with the respect it deserves. The trees started moving. At first it only seemed like a strong wind was shaking the trees. Leafs were falling and small shakes were testing their balance. Little by little, an open space in the shape of a circle started appearing. It didn't look like the trees were moving but more like the space was materializing. Charles concentrated on the movement, but the slight shaking of the ground and the rain of leaf made it difficult to concentrate on the details. The relative distance between the trees and all it's neighbors stayed the same. The only thing that gave him a hint of what was happening was the non-living things that did not move. A rock that was at the base of a tree was slowly, but steadily, being left behind

After the trembling of the ground stopped and the rain of leaves stopped falling Charles explained to Malfoy "Mr. Malfoy we are granted the use of this clearing with the assurances that we will treat this place with respect." This was a concept Malfoy could understand. Among Purebloods it is generally taught to respect nature although not everyone follows the Old Ways as they once did before, but he knows the theory. He had once even seen his father do it.

With Malfoy's acceptance Charles moved onto the next task; he concentrated on the air between his hands and thought of what he would do, until he could picture it vividly in his mind's eye. First break the molecules into their respective elements, then add or take electrons to force a change of element, then from gas atoms to gas molecules of his wish, from gas molecules to solid molecules with the configuration he needed. In some moments small flashes of light could be seen from his hands and a strange movement of gases. Between the palms of his hands he now held a small model house.

"Mr. Malfoy, I'm going to show you a few models and you will choose the one that you feel would be the most comfortable, peaceful and relaxing space for you. Stop me when you see one that you like." He started changing the features of the small models. The common feature was that all of them were relatively simple, organic and open.

"That one." He chose a small model with an interior garden. The walls are made of off-white paper and the floor is of a dark grainy wood. He attached simple, square, columns that will support the roof so that they are protected from the elements then he set the model in the center of the clearing and started combining the altered air molecules. The house expands steadily but does not touch the forest floor, when it reaches the size he wants he stops and affixes some small pillars on the underside so that it never touches the ground; no need to kill the organisms that live on the forest floor, and then adds some stairs. "It will go back to its original form, air, in maybe 12 hours. Transfiguration is never permanent."

He glanced at Mr. Malfoy who had been silent so far into the process to see him looking awed. Charles smiled and mock bowed wiping the sweat off his forehead; it took a lot of energy and concentration. His body is still that of a child and there's so much magic he can channel in this small, undeveloped body until it starts feeling the effects. Malfoy immediately masks his previously blatant reaction

"So we now have a place. Now we need the appropriate clothes." Charles turns his attention onto Malfoy scrutinizing his Wizard's Robes...Malfoy has some very expensive and detailed wizards robes, navy blue color with bronze detailing. It has the family Malfoy crest in each button and made of heavy material. The cape looked imposing, dark blue on the outside and bronze on the inside. It was all good and well… for a high-class event. He looked down to his own clothes; he had not even glanced at what he chose this morning. He had his work jeans, full of holes, rips and paint, a plain white –muggle- shirt, his trusty brown work boots and a light black jacket for the morning cold. Even in the muggle world he would be frowned upon. He wanted to eliminate the blatant remainder of their difference of status and life experiences.

"These are of the finest material and from the best tailors." Malfoy said arrogantly.

"Really now?" Charles drawled with a devilish smile and promptly converted them into air molecules. "There," he said with some satisfaction, "they are now the finest air molecules in this forest." He laughed at Malfoy's red face. He had off-white overall underpants that to Malfoy's credit were plain and clean and his wand strapped to his arm in some fancy golden contraption. "Cotton white pants I think are best." He murmured mostly to himself and redressed them both with some white cotton shorts. He nodded to himself satisfied.

"Don't worry," he said teasingly, "my sister says I'm a great tailor."

"I'm sure." Malfoy does not look amused; "Mr. Winter it is wholly inappropriate for a Lord to dress in this manner." Distate over his apparel heavily coloring his words. But he still looked at Charles scars, internally surprised. He had his own fair share of curse scars that will never come out but he was old, well _older_.

"Don't worry, in this place you are no Lord and I'm the only one witness and as you can see I am wearing the same ." Charles responded more than slightly amused at Malfoy's fixation with propriety and obvious curiosity about his scars. Malfoy hid his feelings well but Charles was used to reading the finer details in people's expressions and body language. He couldn't blame Malfoy for his curiosity. His scars were strange, rope burnt marks on his wrists, strange crisscrossing lines from childhood falls and the star on his back. As a child with so many memories on his mind, he used to overestimate his abilities and that tended to result on some very painful accidents that served to remind him that he was still a child. And the star holds no meaning to Malfoy, so he couldn't imagine why someone would be branded like an animal with it and Charles had no intention of explaining himself.

He ignored Malfoy and sat in front of the stairs and fell silent, his whole mind concentrated on his magic and the effects he wanted to engineer. After twenty minutes, in which Malfoy steadfastly gazed at him, he stood up and turned fully towards the man. "I have implemented a very important safety measure, whilst in this clearing we will be unable to say anything short of the truth, we cannot lie – this means no half-truths or meaningless bluster when you could injure yourself. It is a necessary measure so that if you're not ready for something you won't lie to yourself or to me." Charles saw that Malfoy wasn't altogether happy but he nodded all the same. Charles wasn't happy with it either; he had too many secrets, but knew it was necessary. People were known to die because they pushed their body too far and his moneybag couldn't die before the three years were over. He would have to return the money if Malfoy Sr. or Jr. died because of him. A clause in the contract enforced by the ever-paranoid Malfoy Sr. "Now, take this." Charles gave him some herbs from his pocket and with a snap of his thumb and forefinger he set them alight with the blue flames that came so easily to him, "Walk around the clearing." Charles instructed and as he could see the man's slight hesitation he added, "It's to cleanse this place of malignant spirits." The Malfoy estate was full of it's own history, good and bad, that will be attracted like moths to fire to strong magic.

He sat down to meditate while Malfoy set to his task. He concentrated on his energy and the energy from this place, from the Earth, aided by the burning fragrance of the herbs and started circulating the energy around and inside him to replace the energy he has already used - accelerating a natural process. It is a process that takes both several minutes and no time at all as immersed as he is in the magic.

"I am done." Charles is aware that Malfoy had finished a few minutes ago and chose to speak up only after he had analyzed his admittedly peculiar actions to his satisfaction. If Malfoy were only more in tune with his Magic then he would have felt and perhaps recognized the fluctuation of magic in the environment triggered by his interference.

"Then let's go inside." Inside it was a small, spartan space, there wasn't much to look at, except a square of green, wild, vegetation in the middle that had an opening in the roof. The morning sunlight coming from the opening in the center of the room was the only light, but since the space was small it was enough to drive the shadows away. It smelled like rain and the sounds of birds were just as loud as outside. If he closed his eyes it didn't feel as they had left the forest at all. After appreciating the place, Charles removed his violin from his bag. "I need you to be relaxed for the next part." He instructed the man as he prepared himself, "So sit and listen and try not to think about anything, concentrate only on the music" Malfoy took his wand out and conjured a fancy chair to sit on. Charles played a soft, melancholy tune; thinking about the late chilled nights spent talking before the fire; the content, relaxed feeling of the house, the crackling of the fire as it danced within the fireplace and the quiet conversations with Penny sleeping in his lap. When he drew out the final note Malfoy was almost looking sleepy with a silly grin on his face.

_Note to self: Write results of experiment number 9 on journal._

"What magic was that?" He asked in a drunken voice.

"The magic of good music." Charles answered vaguely but not untruthfully. Since he couldn't outright lie about it, much as he wished to. He guided Malfoy out of his chair and to the floor until he was lying on the clean, wooden floor and sat himself near his middle.

"Try not to resist the feelings. Whatever you feel, don't fight it or be alarmed, it's perfectly normal. Although it's a different experience for everyone; some people cry, others may manifest feelings of intense happiness or euphoria." Malfoy nodded to show that he understood and would comply.

Charles sat himself as conformable as he could, knowing he will have to stay on the same position until the first stage was completed. Malfoy was boneless on the floor, completely relaxed and that was obviously the result of the magic because, after Tom, he is the most paranoid, untrusting person Charles has ever met. He concentrated on his own magic and his own self and lost himself into a trance.

Half an hour later after considerable resistance from Malfoy Charles could sense Malfoy's magic _finally_ relenting, allowing his own magic entrance. If Charles noticed Malfoy's shivering he ignored it. He immersed himself in Malfoy's magic, how it traveled on his body, the pathways it chose, where those pathways were blocked and how the magic crashed against them, the currents distorted before they sought another channel. Charles had his eyes closed and saw it only in his mindscape. The colors and shapes were not truly there; it was just a way for his mind to process the differences it felt.

Charles can 'see' Malfoy's soul yet as a consequence of this Malfoy in turn can see _his_ Soul. Malfoy has killed and tortured and his soul reflects that yet he in turn has been hurt and consequently has serious issues - 'Father' issues are the most apparent followed by trust issues, but they are just the tip of the iceberg. However a root cause easily ascertained are the emotional injuries suffered as a child at the hands of his father; he became desensitized to pain and thus grew to enjoy _inflicting_ pain on others and has trouble recognizing and maintaining healthy relationships. In the least it can be said that he is redeemable, the scars that mark his soul are wounds and can be healed or at least fade. But his job, however, is not to redeem Malfoy, the only problem with this is that they are blocking his magic. He will have to get over some of this stuff to be able to use all his potential. Body, mind, soul and magic are not separate from each other. If one is broken or damaged the others suffer.

Charles began massaging Malfoy's hand, tracing each knuckle on each finger, noting the magical blocks there as his magic lightly probed, the manifestation of mental blocks most likely caused by the ingrained belief that Wandless magic was in actuality _accidental magic_ and that accidental magic only occurred to children: a prevalent, though false, belief in society. Charles continued up his arm, over triceps and biceps, across the shoulder and to his chest. He paused just over Malfoy's beating heart; he had blocks around his heart, he could feel them with every heartbeat, he probably did it unconsciously a survival tactic from his childhood to control his emotions and to numb them when needed. Charles wondered if Tom had the same blocks, but quickly put it out of his mind and continued concentrating on what he was doing. Losing focus was not an option at this stage.

Charles heard a moan that broke his concentration and looked at Malfoy's face. What he saw confused him. Pleasure. Pure, undiluted pleasure. He frowned, until he remembered an important little detail. In this reincarnation he is part-Veela and that is reflected in his magic. Malfoy was being exposed to a concentrated dose of his Veela magic straight into his own magical channels mixed with the high that comes from the high concentration of magic of a really powerful wizard like Charles. Whilst his allure was not enough to manifest externally it was still present within his core.

He internally swore once again his heritage and blocked all the feelings Malfoy was unconsciously sending him trough their open connection and ignored the man's increasing moans and his trembling to continue studying his magic. He _has _to be in complete control of himself as the merging of magic can have very serious, very _permanent_ results if not done right. Malfoy could possibly ignore his magic and soul _if_ he were practiced enough. But right now, it's too much and he's overwhelmed with sensations. He continued past the chest, down over his stomach and abdomen and onto the man's hips, he could see clear as day that Malfoy was sexually frustrated.

All those austere rules that Purebloods have on sex within marriage have left Malfoy highly strung; their belief that sex was solely a means produce an heir that meant no positions that were considered 'improper' for a Lady, no improper sounds and even the _thought_ of having sex more than necessary was to act like a savage animal; simply not _done_ and furthermore only for common people. _No wonder most pureblood families have only one child_. _Even that is a miracle._ Ignoring Malfoy's physical response and running his fingers over his thighs and onto his legs he saw that a lack of exercise was making Malfoy physically weak. Weak body, damaged mind and a scared soul meant that his control over his magic was very weak. Malfoy must not be able to feel his magic with so many blocks physical, mental and emotional and meditating with such a cluttered mind will be difficult. Charles finished his examination and he knew all he needed to know at this point so he started unwinding their magic which was entwined.

While Charles had been busy studying Malfoy's magic, Malfoy also studied Charles. Even with a pleasure clouded mind he still had enough thought process to not miss the opportunity to see what this strange boy is made off. He was a Slytherin after all. At first he didn't understand why he was having his best sexual experience in all of his twenty-seven years with a seven year old. That he is not even touching. Until he saw the strange wine red magic, sex magic, if he remembers correctly and the few books about souls available were to be trusted. So Charles must be part Veela. That would explained why he is so... beautiful? No, that doesn't explain it quite right. He has that _something_, which makes you stop and _look_. But veelas are _never_ male or at least he had never heard of them before.

Malfoy was trying to make sense of the other things he was 'seeing', but at first it only seemed like some big ball of colors. If he didn't know better, he would think he had tried some Fairy drugs again. Nothing stayed the same for more than a few seconds and the colors made it more confusing. After a few minutes studying and receiving feedback from it, he started understanding. That shinny gold film must be his soul. It has the markings of someone who has killed and tortured, but... it wasn't quite right... it didn't have the scars and broken pieces that form from those actions. It also looked weird...distorted. Like if he was seeing the same thing over and over. Like seeing a hundred different men within the same soul. All different, all the same.

If that was his soul... then his magic must be the shinny almost transparent energy that expands in a five foot radio. When the energy bends he can see small rainbows, like the colors from a soap bubble when the light hits it with small blood red veins running throw it. It moved like fire, never still, never in the same position for too long. It was truly beautiful. But more than it's external beauty is the amount of raw power that he could feel that awed him. Small whips ran throw his body, searching, proving, and pocking. If he could have moved away, he would have but right now he couldn't even feel his extremities. It felt extremely intimate and invading. He felt himself wishing this to end quickly.

This boy is truly the most powerful wizard he has ever met. That he would probably ever meet. If his magic was powerful and his soul was confusing, it was nothing compared with his aura. His train of thought stopped when an especially powerful blood red magic vein touched him. _Goddess! How sick is that all this pleasure comes from a chid and not his wife. Breathe and control yourself! You're a Malfoy and Malfoy's don't...! What was I thinking again? ... Study the magic, right. Concentrate on something other than wishing this will end. _

Malfoy looked down at his body and saw that his magic didn't even extend an inch from his body. His soul was scared and broken, but that he expected. But he didn't understand the black _things_ that covered some parts of his body. They looked almost _alive_. He didn't see that in Charles body, so it mustn't be anything good. Any and all thought got away when Charles started moving his magic.

Charles noticed some reluctance from Malfoy in letting go of his magic when he tried to take it back. He opened his eyes and saw him in pain. He was sure Malfoy wasn't liking this experience any more than he, so he was confused as to why he didn't want to end it. There was one sure way to end it and it was by distracting Malfoy enough so that he relaxed the hold he had on Charles magic. But how... He could use the bane of his existence, the Veela magic that had brought so many problems to him and his sister, but was hesitant about it. He had never used it in another person, could never use it on another person even if he wanted, but he was fairly sure that he could now with his core interacting so closely with Malfoy's core. It was affecting Malfoy already; he could feel it even if he couldn't see it. It would take just a little push and… he heard Malfoy's scream.

_Ugh! This will surely traumatize me for life _Thought Charles with distaste. He will not be able to look at Malfoy the same way ever again.

Charles knew that Malfoy will be completely ashamed of his lack of control later but, for now, he was too happy and relaxed to care. And relaxed and happy meant Charles could get his magic away quicker from him and stop this weird, psychedelic, experience once and for all. It was like eating mushrooms and seeing weird colors, patterns and literally _magic,_ accompanied by a feedback of feelings not your own. An overall uncomfortable experience and one he did not want to repeat any time soon.

Charles lets Malfoy rest and compose himself, while he goes to find his journal to write all of his findings. He draws a basic body shape and traced how Malfoy's magic travelled and all the blocks he encountered. Half an hour later, when he's finishing with his notes he heard Malfoy talk.

"That was epic." He frowned deeply, sitting up. "That was not what I wanted to say."

"You can not lie." Charles reminded him. Malfoy nodded with a deep frown and closed his mouth, not willing to see what would come out without a filter. Charles continued writing a basic plan of what needs to be done.

"You're part Veela, somehow." He said some minutes later. Charles nodded but didn't look up from his notes. "And you have killed and tortured but you're soul is not broken like it should be; you have also been... killed... and tortured, how is that even _possible_? And you don't feel like one person... you feel like hundreds... your magic is powerful and intoxicating, but not as awe inspiring as your aura." Malfoy said, sitting straight and studying his hands with a deep frown. Trying to recall what he learned, but it was like trying to recall a long lost dream. He seemed to be talking to himself, trying to solve the mystery, and asking Charles at the same time.

Charles guessed his curiosity was bigger than his resolve not to talk. Pity that. Charles would have preferred not to have to think about it anymore, much less explain it.

"If you kill and fight to defend, your soul does not suffer for it because is a natural part of being alive... and staying alive. An animal has to kill to feed or it will starve. And any animal will kill to protect her cubs or eggs. That doesn't make it soulless or even bad. " Charles explained, ignoring the rest. He had to tell the whole truth when he talked, but he can pick and choose with truths he'd tell. The spell will only activate and force him to tell the whole truth when he was actively lying. Not that he will tell Malfoy that loophole. Let him bare his soul if he wishes.

"What are you?" Malfoy asked looking at him seriously.

"I am what I am. A seven-year-old human boy with a great grandmother veela. A boy who had to kill to get out of an unstable country and has lived in an abusive orphanage." He said and Malfoy knows it's the truth because they can't lie, but it's not the whole truth, not even close. Since Charles needed his trust for this to work he added, "I also happen to remember my other lives." He doesn't add or explain anything else, no need for him to know _everything_. Not the reason, the how or why's, he leaves it at that. He will never tell anyone, not even Tom, the whole truth it was too dangerous for one person to know everything.

Malfoy nodded "Thank you for answering, that explains a lot." Of course, remembering you're past lives was rare but there were a few well-documented incidents. Malfoy wont suspect a plan involving seven other people, pseudo time travel, re-living your life again or battles involving other dimension's creatures. It was too out of the realm of possibility to even _think_ about it.

After a pause Malfoy added carefully "That was a rather..._personal_ experience." Charles snorted at the understatement of the century "Is that the reason you didn't want to do it yourself?"

Charles nodded. "In many ways that was more intimate than sex could ever hope to be. You now know some of my secrets, the things I have done and the things that have been done to me. Since you've seen my soul, as time passes you'll be able to predict how I will act or think in some situations, even if consciously you didn't understand what you saw. The same will be for me. It's nothing over the top, the same things a close friend or family could predict after knowing you for a long time. It's not a like a magical power or anything, it'll be just knowing a person and being able to predict correctly how they would _probably _act in a certain circumstance." He stopped, with a lie on the tip of his tongue but what came out was "Now you're the person that knows me best and that is not something I wished. The fact that your son will also know me better than my siblings is almost a sin." Charles finished with distaste at the situation and at being force to tell the truth about it.

"We are all very private people." Malfoy agreed "but you gave me a fair warning before I agreed."

_And I should have asked for more money, _Charles thought for what seemed like the thousand time. But what's done is done. No need to punish himself more than the experience had already punished him.

"So this is the plan: First, you will stop depending on the House Elf's magic. The next time we meet we are doing some guided meditation and start on some exercise. The meditation will help your control and the exercise will help you know your body better. A healthy body and healthy mind will permit you to use your full potential." It will of course get a lot harder later. Especially re-learning to do magic when Malfoy had some decades using a wand, but Charles will explain it later. He was eager to go home now and leave this awful experience behind. "Now let's get out of here, I will meet with your son tomorrow."

"Charles my clothes please. I'm not walking around nude." Malfoy said without moving out of the privacy of their place.

Charles blinked surprised; since it didn't bother him he had forgotten they were only in pants. And they were hardly nude. Maybe he was forgetting something important about this time. Or ignoring. Tom too had an adversity with seeing too much skin. Charles sighed, but did as instructed and materialized their clothes back. Malfoy took out his wand and with a quiet murmur conjured a wall for privacy. Charles rolled his eyes but refrained from commenting. He really needed to pay more attention to what people considered normal in this time and place and start following like a good little sheep_. _

_Oh the joys of reliving a time period_. Charles thought with a healthy dose of sarcasm.

Afterwards they left their temporal accommodations and started the long walk towards the Manor. An impenetrable cover of clouds covered the sun and a cold wind indicated that it would rain soon. Charles was glad to have his jacket back. It seems like hours had passed since he arrived and it was close to three in the afternoon.

"I still feel connected to you, is that permanent?" Malfoy asked.

"No, it will fade in a few hours. Sleep it off or ignore it." Charles also could feel Malfoy, not as close as before, but like a constant hum on the back of his conscious. "Do you have Portkey wards here?" Charles could feel wards around the terrain but he wasn't as experienced with wards to identify what the subtle differences in each one meant.

Malfoy nodded and took the old portkey and reconfigured it. "It is now a permanent two way portkey that will bypass the wards. Don't leave it in a place where someone else can steal it." He warned and hesitantly handed it over.

Charles nodded and without a word, activated it.

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><p>AN This was supposed to be the first half of the original chapter but in editing it got to be too long to post it as it was. Tomorrow I hope to put the next chapter that it's basically the missing half.

A lot of you have been extremely kind and wonderful with me and that motivated me to take a break from studying and do a last check/edit to post it. For all of you that are nervous about me not continuing the story, don't worry! I have some 90,000 words on my original draft already written, including the end. But as many of you know, first drafts are shit and need lots of editing. I also tend to jump years, only putting scenes here and there that I think are important or as inspiration comes, so the holes need to be filled and that will take time. Some, like this chapter might double in size and others might be deleted.

Someone asked if maybe I use a sci-fi he/she might have not be familiar with. Well, I never see sci-fi, have not even seen Star Wars or Star treck movies or series for that matter. I know that Yoda appears in one of them and that 'I am your father' is the big surprise. The idea came from my mother actually, she is always saying that she demands another life so that she can be born a singer (she is now a psychologist and has trouble singing the chicken without one leg song) and we sometimes talk about what other life we might have wished to be born into. So I guessed I used some of that. But who knows? Inspiration comes from everywhere. Maybe I fell asleep one day and a movie with this same plot was played and my subconscious remembers it.

After you review, you might want to check out Cauterize from Lady Altair, it's the sort of epilogue I would have wished, very emotional, very powerful.

**I'm really nervous about this chapter, so please tell me your thoughts on it!**


	11. Chapter 11: Mrs Cole and Mirrors

Title: Old Souls

Rated T/M

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

_Summary_

_He died trying to save the universe... thousands of years in the future. Now he's back in his reincarnation of 1926. Meet Charles, one of the many reincarnations of Harry Potter. He comes to 1930 with Big Plans, none that involved Tom Riddle**.**_

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><p><strong>Chapter 11: Mrs. Cole and Mirrors<strong>

If asked, Tom will _never_ admit that Mrs. Cole and the orphanage had an influence on his life. He'd prefer to cut out his tongue than say it out loud. But the fact remains, even if he doesn't want to admit it.

In the rare moments when Mrs. Cole was sober or what the other children called 'her good day's', she taught them that cleanliness was equivalent to godliness and nothing good came to dirty people. Appearances was a must in her book, even drunk out of her mind, if a copper or a potential parent came she would give them the appearance of 'the Lady in charge' or 'the martyr', her two favorites roles to play. Not even the best actress had a pence on Mrs. Cole. He used to watch her, sometimes. Awed at her sudden change. From slobbering, cursing and abusive drunk to the Virgin Mary in the blink of an eye, it was truly an impressing sight to behold and one he sought to emulate one day.

In her 'bad days' she taught him that those who fear you, would obey you and that physical pain was a necessary evil for obedience. But she couldn't have a group of bloodied children for mandatory monthly Sunday church, people would have talked, whispered and frowned. So watching her he learned the power of the spoken word. How utterly and completely it can destroy a person without leaving a single mark on their skin. How it can break even the strongest of men, leaving them in a mess of their own tears, sobs and screams. She taught him that sometimes, the blade of a well-spoken truth was sharper than that of a knife. He is not surprised then when it turns out that magic is intimately related with the spoken word. He already knows how powerful few choice words can be. Words that can torture? Words that can kill without leaving a single trace behind? Words that can force you to comply? Yes, he had seen it all before and magic had nothing to do with it.

Mrs. Cole always said that for every bad deed made the punishment should be ten times worse, just so that they wouldn't feel tempted to do it again. When he's stronger and older he will find his father and give him a suitable punishment that is ten times worse than being abandoned on the streets. He is not sure what is worse than being abandoned but Tom will make sure that he never feels tempted to leave a son behind. Even if said son doesn't need his worthless, muggle, presence anymore.

Church taught him a lot also, not that he would ever step a foot in there again now that he wasn't forced to. The sermons, full of blood, battles, fires, screams and agonizing pain enraptured him like no other child book ever did. His favorite character, by far, was Lucifer. He was everything Tom could ever want to be: arrogant, charismatic, powerful, cunning, ambitious, proud, and intelligent. A true leader who orchestrated the most important revolution against the greatest force in the Heavens. He believed that things should change and set out to do it even if it seemed all but impossible. The most beautiful angel in Heaven that preferred to _reign in Hell than to serve on Heaven_, Tom felt he understood Lucifer perfectly because he too, wanted to be Great and bring a seemingly impossible change to his life. He promised to himself not to be another street urchin polishing boots for the rest of his life or another nameless corpse like his mother. For a child abandoned in the orphanage in the midst of a depression accomplishing something more for his life than surviving to see his thirty seemed as impossible as conquering the Heavens. Tom was sure he will do it thou, he had nothing to lose and everything to win.

He only feared dying before his time to rule, to be Great, to be invincible came. He feared dying. Dying like the thousands that died daily. He thought that few deaths were as meaningless as dying out of cold, hunger or a war that he didn't believe in. He feared becoming invisible, a nothing, a no one, an unmarked grave in a nameless graveyard for the poor and unwanted, like his miserable, good for nothing mother.

The second most influencing person on his life before Charles was Martha, the helping maid of the orphanage. She was the least scared of him, at least in the beginning. She was the one that taught him the letters and numbers. Sadly, in the end, her 'faith in God' was more powerful than her will and she deemed him the devil's child. In a way, he hated her more than Mrs. Cole for it. For giving him a piece of happiness only to take it away. He used to miss Martha. Miss her smiles, her kind eyes and the new knowledge she always brought. Then anger took over hurt and finally indifference. He didn't need her. He didn't need anyone. In the end he could teach himself new words, to write them clearly and to talk properly by watching others do it. In a round about way she taught him the value of being alone, independent and to need of no one even better than Mrs. Cole did.

He was glad that Charles showed up in wintertime, when Mrs. Cole was always at the worst of her depression and Martha was on bed rest in the last stages of pregnancy. It wouldn't have done for Charles to see that the orphanage was a halfway decent place to be. Better than most places, at least. Charles might have decided that Tom was fine where he was and that there was no need to take him away. So, Tom never saw fit to mention that there _might_ have been a reason for Mrs. Cole to particularly hate him. Never thought to tell him the times he had tried to kill Mrs. Cole after a particularly long week without food or when she turned her head at the abuse he was receiving from the older boy's. He never told Charles how he had made her precious collection of porcelain dolls take knives and try to stab her in her sleep. Sadly, for him, he didn't have the control he would have liked over his magic and she woke up before he could finish her off. Or the time he poisoned her drink. Or the time he pushed her down the stairs.

Sometimes while he's looking at Charles interact with his sister and Penelope he thinks he might have been the reason she drank herself to oblivion, but those thoughts are always fleeting. In his book he has done nothing wrong. An animal will lash out when threatened after all. Even before he was four, his survival has always been more important than the survival of his tormentors. He wonders why people don't seem to agree with this very basic, almost instinctive fact.

But now he has things he could lose so he was trying his best to re-learn a new set of rules. It was a difficult and often frustrating process and it seemed that for every step forward he took, he was cursed to take three steps back.

They say a person never learns quite as fast as the first few years of their life. Tom was beginning to believe them. He was trying his best to fit in with this group of people. It's his only chance to get out of the streets and have a better opportunity of accomplishing his goals of being the Best.

He was trying his hardest at being _nice,_ even if he thinks Abby hugs one time too many and Penny was an annoying baby that should have been left in the orphanage_._ What happened on the orphanage with Penny's abusers was amusing, but it served as a clear warning for Tom. Charles would not tolerate misconduct or any sort of 'accidents' and he was sure Charles would know if he was lying, he always does. Sometimes it seems as if Charles could read his mind...

Today seemed like three steps back kind of day and a true test of his patience.

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><p>Charles got back to what seemed to be a war zone.<p>

"What is going on here?" Charles yelled to be heard over everyone's loud voices. When they saw Charles, they all ran to him for him to hear their complains.

"They WONT listen!" Yelled Tom. His usually pale face, flushed, his dark eyes narrowed in anger and his perfectly brushed hair in disarray. Charles spotted flour and eggs on his clothes.

"He burned the food." Defended Penny at the same time, anger in her voice and frustrated tears in her eyes. Charles took a deep breath and smelt that something had indeed been burnt. He went to the kitchen to make sure it was still standing and was grateful to notice that mostly everything seemed in one piece. Piles of half made food on the counters, dirty dishes in the wash-hand basin, and broken pieces of a vase on the floor. He had never seen the kitchen as dirty as today. He resisted the urge to pull out at his hair.

"If you wouldn't have been screaming and running, it wouldn't have burned." Tom said heatedly to Penny after having followed him there.

"They broke my doll." Abby cried from the corner. Holding a bundle of sheets, Charles assumed had her doll in.

"If _someone_" Penny looked pointedly at Abby "Hadn't let the door open, Draconian Steve The Fluffy Dog wouldn't have gotten inside and broken the chair and then I wouldn't have had to run after him!" Charles heard Penny scream in her high pitch child voice.

Charles pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. He knew this would happen eventually, but hadn't imagined it will come so soon. At the orphanage they had a common enemy, Mrs. Cole and the world, and more pressing worries, like trauma, possible hunger and work. So in that time the four got along relatively easy. Now that the newness and strangeness of it all had faded, the fights were bound to start.

It was inevitable really; the four had clashing personalities. Abby was sweet but willful and would control the world given half a chance. Tom was dominant, controlling and would destroy anything and everything that stood between him and what he wants. Penny was a four year old that was testing her limits in this new environment. Just as Tom, she was testing the waters, seeing how much she can do and get away with. And all of them had too many issues to count.

"Stop! One at a time, please. Tom talk." Charles said, fed up with all the screaming.

"They wont listen to me. They have been yelling, screaming and jumping since this morning! Penelope won't eat what I cook; she won't bathe, won't clean and won't help! Abigael has been crying for _hours_ about something or another. The bloody dog made me burn the food. The owls won't stop coming and they won't let me touch the letters. And your bloody owl bit me." Tom practically screamed, pushing a stand of hair that had fallen on his eyes with exasperation. It wasn't rare to hear Tom screaming, he rarely cried but he could scream, and loudly, when things didn't go his way. Tears, served no purpose, unless to manipulate in his book.

Charles rubbed his temples tiredly and nodded. "Go calm yourself. We'll talk later." No use talking him while he was this wound up. "Now Abigael, talk." He looked at her sternly.

"Penny was running and the dog tripped me and Suzy broke her arm and Tom wont help me and-and she's been in pain all day." She said brokenly in German, holding Suzy in her arms like one would cradle a child. Charles too, tended to go back to German when he was feeling too angry or too tired to think. But since Tom and Penny were little sponges and were starting to understand more and more with each day, it was a moot point. He had to be careful in what he said in either language.

"Give her to me. I'll make sure she heals." He said taking her doll with care. "Now go and clean yourself. When you come back I'll have Suzy good as new." She hugged him and went to her room to get out of the muddy clothes.

"Now, Penelope."

She started crying and he doesn't understand a word she is saying in between her hiccups. He sighted and picked her up. Now that she was closer to his ear he heard what she was saying better. "Please, please don't take me back to the orphanage. I'll be good. I promise. I'll eat Tom's cooking and drink the yucky potion. I promise I'll be good. Don't be mad." She pleaded again and again in a heartbroken voice.

His chest constricted painfully. "Oh no Honey. Shhh you wont ever go back there. Never. No matter what you do or how mad I get. You will always be my sister, I promise. Penelope Winter, part of the Winter family. See?" He said showing her the official papers he had hurriedly summoned. She doesn't know how to read yet but can recognize her name. "I wont ever leave you." He continued to talk to her quiet reassurances until she calmed down. Only harsh breaths and hiccups could be heard.

"Promise?" She asked in his ear, holding him a little more tightly and cleaning her face in his, once, white shirt.

"I promise." He responded solemnly, drawing soothing circles on her back and rocking her. "Now how about you take a bath and I make something yummy to eat meanwhile." He said while taking her to the bath and starting to fill the tub with warm water.

She nodded with a teary smile. "Go look for a clean towel, bath toys, your pajamas and tell Abby to come down and help you." He added.

"I'm a big girl. I can do it myself." She said with a frown, getting a little of her spunk back.

"Of course you can, she is just there to help you play." He said with a big smile "Now run along."

Charles was tired and stressed from doing the merging with Malfoy and coming home to disaster wasn't helping to improve his mood but right now it's crisis control, later he can vent. He started on an easy and quick late lunch and while the food was cooking took a look at Suzy. With a little magic he puts her arm back in place and cleans her. This is the doll he made for her birthday with his own hair and for that reason it's Abby's most valuable doll, even if she is not that pretty. Second only to the first 'horse' he carved for her. He hadn't known she had kept it until he saw her putting it in an honored place in her room. It must have been in her pocket when the house burned. He went to find Abby to give her the doll and found her in the girl's room, sulking on her bed.

"Hey, stop looking down. Suzy is perfectly fine. Here, take a look at her yourself." She took the doll and hugged it and then hugged him saying a quiet 'thank you', sniffling and cleaning her tears on him. "The food will be ready soon." He told her and went looking for Penny and Tom…and a clean shirt. He found them talking quietly in their room and stopped at the door to not interrupt them.

"I'm sorry Tommy for not being good." Penny was saying in a small voice, looking at the floor and fidgeting with her small hands.

"It's ok Penny, I shouldn't have yelled." Tom said quietly from his perch on the bed, a book in his hand.

"Dinner is ready." Charles said with a smile from the door.

Penny is in what he calls her 'comfort' pajamas. She always puts them on when she is feeling sad. They have unicorns with princess that for some reason makes her happy. After they helped him serve the food, they all sat and started passing the plates. Having idle chatter about this and that, nothing serious. Just how Abby's garden is going, plans for the new library, things they need to buy, some funny story of how the animals are getting along (not that good) and other inconsequential topics. After eating they all help him clean and organize the kitchen.

"Bed, both of you. We will talk about today in the morning." They looked a little disappointed, thinking the topic was closed.

"But... but, it's only five." Penny protested weakly.

"If you are not tired you can continue your studies." Charles responded. Penny put a panicked face and went running to her bed. Clamming she was too tired to study, to think or to even stand up.

He goes to the bathroom, takes a relaxing shower, letting the heat of the water calm his mind. He cleans his mouth on the wash-hand basin doing his best to avoid the mirror.

Charles hated looking at the mirror. Hated what he will see.

The almond shaped blue eyes and long eyelashes, framed by thick eyebrows, straight raven black hair that covered his eyes in the front and reached the nape of his neck and sharp symmetric features. He looked a lot like his father with strong masculine features and had his overall build. But the Veela eyes, just a shade off from a true Veela, were hard to miss. The only thing constant on all of his lives was the look on his eyes. Not the colour, or the shape or anything physical, it was the _look_. Eyes that have seen too much, suffered too much and lost too much. The thought was both reassuring and distressing.

He took a deep breath to still himself and looked up. He _hated_ his perfect good looks. Millions of years of evolution were lost on him, because if given half a chance he would have traded with a hag. Right now they were harmless, but it won't always stay the same. Nature never made things for the sake of doing it; everything always served a practical purpose.

They say that the most dangerous predators are the most beautiful ones and Veelas were no exception. Even a drop of blood, from a long dead relative, was enough to change his physiology and dictate the course of his life. Like the feathers of a colorful bird, the bright color of a poisonous frog, the strong smell of a fragrant flower and the light that drives a fish to the mouth of a bigger predator, all of it was made to trap, hunt, ensnare, bewitch and attract. Charles has always known that passing unnoticed has never been an option for them and he was bitter and resentful of it. They were made to attract attention and he hated attention. He will have to deal with always having eyes follow him and no one seeing _him_. Just like with fame, people wont see him. He will be invisible under a mask of beauty.

True Veela didn't have the power to use all magic as wizards do or the immunity to diseases as muggles have, but their beauty entrapped both wizards and muggles so that the resulting offspring could be the better predator. His child like beauty will someday become a weapon. A weapon he did not wish to have and has never wanted.

So instead of hating himself directly, he hated the mirror. Hated seeing that haunted beauty that has been more of a curse than a blessing for his family. His mother wasn't beautiful enough for her family but too beautiful to pass unnoticed in the streets. It caused them to have to live in almost total isolation for their safety. On the run or around people he was in constant fear of his sister uncontrollable allure. One careless mistake on his part lead to being noticed by officials and almost tortured and killed. What had beauty done to his family but destroy and hurt?

Tom had perfect looks also but none of his problems. Tom was like the creation of an artist that had wanted to paint the perfect human and he _almost_ managed it. The artist only forgot to include a few, but important, details. Like a conscious or a heart. In complete contrast to him, Tom relished the power over people his beauty brought him. Maybe Tom was smarter than him. Or maybe he was more naive. Tom ended changing his appearance later on in his life and since Charles knew for a fact that Voldemort could have kept his original appearance with a little extra magic, he knows it was done on purpose. Charles has the theory that he too learned of people's obsession with appearances and beauty. Maybe he too couldn't look at the mirror without hating its reflection. Maybe Tom hated that people couldn't see who he truly was.

Charles tries to convince himself that it's all skin and bones at the end of the day. Who care if he never makes friends? He had Tom, Penny and Abby that should be enough. What if it makes him and his sister a walking target? He can protect them both. Who cares if people stare, point and whisper? He has better things to worry about. Projects and missions that need all of his attention and time. Maybe it's all for the best. He can't get distracted by meaningless things like friends or love. Determination fills him and he nods.

As he closes the toilet door he decides to take the mirror out tomorrow and leave it in a place where he won't have to deal with it on a daily basis and leaves the bathroom. With some trunks and a towel around his neck he goes barefoot to sit in front of the fire to finish drying. Dearly wishing he had a cup of hard alcohol to help him relax and take away the pounding in his head. But he has to be sober for tomorrow... and drinking at this age when the body is developing is _bad_... _So, stop thinking about it. _He mentally reproached himself.

By now the sun had set and the only light on the first floor was the fire in front of him, leaving long shadows in the corners. The rain that had been promised in the afternoon was falling with a vengeance. Loud pitter-patter could be heard all around the house and from time to time the hissing of lighting sticking, a moment of white light and then, everything going back to the subtle reds and orange of the fire.

"Stop glaring at the fire... it's growing." Tom said, sitting himself on the carpet besides Charles. Charles forced himself to relax and the fire went back to a more normal size. They stayed quiet for a while, both lost in their own thoughts, the sounds of the storm and the crackling of the fire. Charles could hear the soft murmuring of Penny and Abby talking upstairs and when lighting struck, small screams followed by giggles. He can imagine them on the same bed, forming a tent with the sheets and with the dog with them as protector, holding tightly to his brown and white long fur. They probably put the owl on the window so he could keep watch and somehow tell them. The owl is, most likely, disinterested as he usually is in human affairs and quietly looking for Tom's snake, Hydra, to come out from whatever hole it's hiding so it can eat it.

"Did you have a hard day? You seemed tense when you arrived and not because of the fights." Tom questioned tentatively, bringing him back to the here and now.

"It went... as expected." Charles responded neutrally, not wanting to talk about it. Tom looked at Charles for a few minutes, knowing Charles wasn't telling what he was thinking but knowing that if he pushed Charles for answers, the boy would close up. So Tom stayed quiet.

"I'm sorry." Tom said half an hour later. After a pause, Charles asked "What for?" wondering what more could go wrong today and if he really wanted to know.

Tom stayed silent for a long while, just looking at the fire and thinking on how to phrase what he wanted to say. Charles waited patiently, looking at Tom to let him know he had his full attention. The fire made Tom's usually pale skin look golden and his dark eyes reflected the fire in front of them. He was sitting with his legs to his chest, arms holding them tight and his head rested on top of his knees, a frown marring his face.

"I didn't know how hard it was. To take care of us all, I mean... You make it look so easy that I didn't realize how much you do in a day, until you weren't here to do it. I usually read for hours and don't help you... I thought Abby and Penny were obedient and respectful but I didn't realize that that was your doing... I wasn't as patient as you or a good cooker, I couldn't make Penny take a bath or clean her toys. I couldn't even make Abby stop crying and I've just started yelling. You never yell." Tom said with a frown, looking down at his hands. Changing positions to not have Charles on his line of vision.

"It was my fault. I knew you were hangover and stressed... I should have talked with Martha and worked on hours she could kept an eye. I'm sorry, it was my mistake." Charles said repentantly.

He was the worst guardian _ever._ He left a nine year old, a seven year old and a four year old to fend for themselves _for hours_. They could have hurt themselves, burned the cottage, burned _with _the cottage, someone might have come… Charles hid his face in his hands, self-hate and guilt burning deeply.

_Jesus! Was he so self-absorbed and distracted?_

"I don't need a babysitter." Tom spat, looking mad at the mere suggestion. Dark brown eyes alight with indignation and a deep frown that did not suit his child-like angelic face.

_Yes, this was Tom, can change from apologetic to furious in a matter of seconds _Thought Charles with resignation.

Charles pulled at his hair and said with a tired voice "We'll talk about it tomorrow. Work something out that works for all." The last thing Charles wanted right now was to start a fight with Tom. "Go to sleep, I'll be up shortly." Tom took this not so subtle hint that Chalres wanted to be alone and with a huff, left. Charles stayed there for hours. Not moving, not even thinking, just looking at the hypnotic movements of the fire. When he felt himself falling asleep, he got up and went to his room. Tom was already asleep so he tried not to make too much sound as he got ready for bed. As soon as he closed his eyes he was asleep.

_Tom was leading Abby by the hand towards the dark forest and away from him. He could hear Abby's laugh and animated talk but was too far away to hear the words. He calls for them to wait up but when Tom looked back his face was white with blood red eyes and no nose._

_They were having breakfast, but instead of the usual English breakfast with tea and coffe, Penny was cut opened and Tom was eating her heart while Abby stared in horror. _

_Like always he's watching Abby play in the yard, the sun is strong and he can hear the sound of water running close by. He is siting on a swing a few yards away eating an apple from the apple tree the swing is hanging from. He looks back for a second to see Tom approaching. He smiles and waves Tom over. Tom smiles back._

_He is looking at the lake's surface, his green eyes and lighting bolt scar reflected back at him. He distorts the image when he puts his hands on the water's surface and cleans the grime of his face. It's over. Lord Voldemort is dead. _

_He hears screams, long suffering screams but can't see to find the source, he only knows pain. After a moment Charles realized that he's the one screaming. He can't remember why._

"Charles! Charles! Wake up." Someone was saying. He looked around and tried to remember where he was and who was this boy. After a moment, sleep left his mind and he remembered. He was Charles Winter, not Harry Potter and he was not with Voldemort, he was with Tom. He looked for a candle, found it by the bedside table and lighted it up with a snap of his fingers.

"Tom why are you bleeding?" Charles asked in a confused voice when he noticed Tom' bloody face on the candlelight.

"You! You bloody prat! Last time I wake you from a nightmare... Who is Sophie?" Tom asked curiously in a strange nasal voice, still holding his bloody nose. That's strange, he doesn't remember dreaming about her.

Charles ignored the question, took Tom's hand and led him down the dark stairs and to the toilet. An automatic light from an unseen source lighted the small room.

Charles finally answered "Someone important who is not here anymore." while putting a towel in running warm water. Charles turns away from Tom so that the boy doesn't notice his suddenly shaking hands and picked up the first aid kit from the cabinet above the sink and started taking out the things he will need. Tom sat himself on top of the toilet since there was barely enough space in the small bathroom for two people. It was a clean, small and spartan room with not much to see.

"That clears everything up, thanks. I might not have noticed the obvious." Tom said with sarcasm dripping from his words.

"I'm glad I could help." Charles responded with a smile, but his eyes warning Tom that it was a closed topic. "If you can be sarcastic it means your not hurting that much. You'll be glad to know that your nose is not broken." Charles said after examining him.

"It's your bloody fault I'm hurt at all." Tom responded moodily while Charles continued to clean and bandage his nose.

"It is. I'm sorry." Charles said seriously. Tom looked uncomfortable, not really expecting that Charles would apologize. Charles let his magic soothe Tom's bruised face and relax his tense muscles so that he wont be in pain. Tom immediately sagged and let out a sight.

"Let's go to sleep. I have a long day tomorrow." Charles said

"You don't want to talk about it? You seemed scared...I've never seen you scared." Tom asked tentatively.

"I'm fine." Charles responded immediately in a monotonous voice without even looking at Tom.

"Are you going to keep _lying_? I'm tired of your lies and half truths!" Tom exploded. Charles looked at him surprised, not really expecting that comment from Tom. Especially not at three in the morning.

"I... _will_ be fine. I'm just stressed." Charles tried explaining truthfully, but without giving details.

"Do you need... human contact?" Tom said with a pained expression.

Charles laughed "No. I'll somehow survive without it. Don't worry about me, go to sleep." Tom looked relived.

"Aren't you coming?" Tom asked from the door, hiding a yawn and letting his black silk pajama top rode up as he stretched.

"I'll be right there. I just need to use the toilet." Charles responded with a tight smile. He waited until Tom was at the stairs, closed the door to the bathroom quietly put a silencing charm on the door with a trembling hand, reached for the toilet and vomited. He stayed there for a while, dry heaving and sweating. Resting his forehead on the cool tiles of the bathroom. When he felt strong enough he got up, cleaned his face and mouth, looked up to see dark bags on his eyes and clammy skin staring right back at him.

A few minutes later Charles climbed to bed and was about to try to sleep when he felt the bed dip, without opening his eyes he asked, "Tom, what are you doing on my bed?"

"Well is what your supposed to do, isn't? You do it for Abby and Penny, even once for me."

"You don't have to, you know." To make sure Tom knows he really, _really _doesn't.

"I know." Tom said while getting comfortable in _his_ bed.

"So you're staying." Charles half asked, half stated.

"Don't be difficult Charles."

Charles sighted, resigned, and got comfortable. Even if he would _never _have admitted it, he was glad not to be alone with his thoughts tonight.

* * *

><p>THANK YOU FOR READING AND REVIEWING!<p>

I'm really surprised that people have liked the story. I was hopeful for 50 reviews by the end of the story and maybe 5 or 6 people following it. I would have been happy just to have someone read and review so that I could become a better writer and practice my rusty english, so you must imagine my happiness at having 10,000 hits, 83 alerts, 70 fav and almost the double of reviews I expected for the entire story in just the first 10 chapters.

So tell me what I do wrong so I don't repeat the same mistakes and tell me what I do right so I can keep doing it.


	12. Chapter 12: Penny

Title: Old Souls

Rated T/M

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

_Summary_

_He died trying to save the universe... thousands of years in the future. Now he's back in his reincarnation of 1926. Meet Charles, one of the many reincarnations of Harry Potter. He comes to 1930 with Big Plans, none that involved Tom Riddle._

**Chapter 12: Penny**

Charles opened one eye sluggishly to look out the window. He saw that the sun was just rising and everything was still wet from last night's rain. He was warm and everything looked so cold outside. It must be six or seven, one part of his brain informed him. The thought of going back to sleep was powerful but with iron will he made himself wake up. Still not rising from the bed he started moving Tom away from him.

It seems that through the night, Tom took all of pillows and he took all the sheets. The result was that all of the pillows were on the floor on Tom's side of the bed and the sheets are a tangle mess in his side of the bed. Tom's head was on his chest, one hand and leg holding Charles in place. As he took all of the sheets Tom must have looked for warmth in his body heat. And Charles escaping him meant that Charles was at a weird angle and almost falling off the bed with Tom holding him to stop him from moving any farther. _Even in sleep he's possessive and controlling _thought Charles.

"Stop moving." murmured Tom, holding him even tighter and hiding his head from the light.

"Then get off me." Charles responded testily in German, too tired to notice he wasn't speaking in English. Tom murmured some obscenities, turned taking all the sheets in the process and kept sleeping buried in a tangle mess of sheets.

Now without Tom holding him to the bed, Charles got up. He almost felled when he tripped over an opened book carelessly left on the floor, cursing Tom, the book, the cold floor and mornings in general he continued to the toilet. After he was clean, changed and marginally more awake, he started making breakfast and lunch at the same time. When breakfast was ready he served it on the table and put lunch on the cold box for them to find later. Since it was still early and no one had woken up, he went to wake them up. Usually he would let them sleep a little more, but today he had to go and meet Malfoy Junior early and do some errands in the afternoon. He also had to talk to them about yesterday before leaving, something he wasn't looking forward. He went to the girl's room first, since they usually were the ones that took more time to get ready in the mornings.

He went to Penny first. She was sleeping in her green frog pajamas that had princesses that were in various stages of kissing the ever-escaping frog. She must have changed before sleeping, he thought distractedly. He whispered her name and started brushing her hair with his fingers until she opened her eyes lazily. He noticed the dark circles under her eyes and frowned. _Nightmares again_ he thought. It seemed that he wasn't the only one who couldn't sleep last night.

"I've made your favorites with freshly made apple juice." She smiled and put up her hands. He picked her up and carried her to the bathroom, while she continued to sleep in his arms. He gave her a pink toothbrush and dental paste, watched as she cleaned her mouth, making sure she didn't swallow and cleaned well. He made the paste and toothbrushes because dental hygiene wasn't a big priority in this decade. Calling it a priority was even a stretch, not with scarlet fever, diphtheria, whooping cough, measles, typhoid and tuberculosis on everyone's worry list... not counting poverty, all high unemployment and high death rate in childbirth. So they had their own toothpaste, not the best tasting one, but one that did the basic job of keeping your teeth from rotting.

After Penny finished he turned her so that she was looking at him and in a quiet voice asked "Nightmares again?"

She turned to look away from his concerned gaze and nodded shyly.

"The orphanage?" He prodded gently. She tensed and still looking away, made an almost unnoticeable nod.

"You can come to me at night you know. If you want company." She made no indication that she heard him, he sighted and picked her up to take her upstairs. She was heavy in his small arms but he still felt the need to comfort her in some way.

To distract her mind from her nightmares he let her choose her own clothes, something she rarely has a choice with Abby. Today she wanted to wear blue pants with a violet/pink stripped t-shirt and brilliantly pink and sparkly sneakers.

"Up." He ordered and she dutifully put her arms up so he could dress her.

She insisted on different socks, spent an eternity picking out which tiara she wanted to use today, to later decide that she was too big to be using tiaras. He now understands why Abby decides Penny's clothes _before_ the small girl wakes up and lets her have no say in it.

The style of clothes was obviously not from this time and _especially_ not for girls. But Charles had never bothered with from what year he stole the style from. So they have the best from all decades. It's not like he cares if he makes a change in the clothing industry and no one is going to see their unusual clothes and point 'time traveler!'. They would be transferred to the nearest mental hospital or St. Mungo's mental ward before they could finish the first sentence, paid by Charles of course (the least he could do to help that poor soul).

By now, Penny was happily babbling away and he listened with half an ear to her stories. Happy that she was happy but not really interested in the song Abby was making her memorize about the letters. He knew the song; it was the song their mom taught them in what seems a lifetime ago.

"How 'bout you wake Tommy up? With kisses and hugs, of course." Charles suggested once he finished brushing her hair.

"Yes!" She took off running before he could change his mind. He went to Abby to see her with her eyes opened, looking at him from the bed. The dog, taking half the bed, was still sleeping. The walls all around the room were covered with pictures. Some pictures were obviously made by Penny's clumsy hand but others, a little more polished, were of another house and an older handsome couple. The house from different angles, flowers that do not grow in England, and most commonly, their parents smiling faces were all Abby had left of that life.

He smiled to her and she gave him a sleepy smile.

"I made a full breakfast." She nodded and sat on the bed, her long hair a mess of tangles. "And coffee." he added. Now she looked genuinely happy but still too sleepy to comment. He went to see if Tom was awake yet. He found Tom still sleeping, using Penny as a teddy bear. Penny started giggling madly when she saw him on the door.

"Told ya he would come." She said in a singsong voice.

"Sssshhh. Pretend you can't see or hear him. He'll go away eventually." Tom murmured, loud enough for Charles to hear.

"Come here, Penny." Charles said with a wicked smile, throwing her a wink. She giggled even harder and went running towards Charles, hiding behind his legs but still peaking to see what he would do to Tom. Tom opened an eye, having recognized the smile on Charles voice. And Tom knew enough of Charles sense of humor to be wary.

"Tom you have three seconds to get out of bed. One..."

"Or what?" Tom asked boldly

"Or face the consequences." Charles said with a wide smile and a twinkle on his eye. "Two..."

Tom immediately got out of bed, tripping on a sheet in his hurry. The horribly disappointed look that Charles had made him think he chose wisely even if his exit was a touch less that graceful. Tom sent an annoyed look at Charles and went to the toilet.

Eventually everyone made it to the table. All in various moods. Tom annoyed, moodily staving the eggs; Penny was merrily telling Charles an exiting tale about the misadventures of Rabbit the Owl and Hydra, the snake, between bites. The short story was that the owl, was behaving like an owl, and was trying to eat the snake, his natural prey. And that the snake was, unsurprisingly, behaving like a snake and hiding from the owl, while at the same time trying to bite the dog. The snake was delusional enough to think the dog would fit his mouth. But for Penny this story involved big explosions and running scenes, no matter that snakes and owls did not run. Minor, _boring_, details like that, usually didn't make it to Penny's stories. Abby was quietly sipping her coffee, not yet awake, still in her magical pajamas that had owls flying around. Charles was trying to get Penny to eat between sentences and not throw all the food on the floor, as she was already doing. His hands cutting her food to bite sized pieces with the practice ease of one that has been doing the exact same thing tree times a day for months. His mind not on the food but on planning the day ahead and trying to find a miraculous solution for all of his troubles.

Tom being Tom had to spread his mood, so he started attacking Penny. Charles let it go for a few minutes to see if they could resolve it between themselves but when it became clear that it was just escalating he interrupted.

"Tom since you seem to be finished with your breakfast, how 'bout you accompany me to our room?" Charles phrased it like a question but in his tone was a clear order. Tom slammed his utensils, looked at Charles hatefully but got up and followed Charles to their room. Charles closed the door and looked at Tom. Tom had his fists clenched and was looking at the floor. Charles assumed he was still mad at his biological family's abandonment and was trying to take his anger at someone else but maybe it was something else. He went with his gut feeling.

"I understand that you're mad and resentful at your family..." He started carefully, trying to be sensible about it. When Charles saw the curling of Tom's hands he knew he hit a nerve.

"You understand _nothing_! Your family loved you and the only reason they left you was for your own good. So don't tell me you _understand_." Tom spat hatefully.

So he was right. Tom was still thinking about it. Of course he was still thinking about it! People don't get over being abandoned from day to night... Hell, most people never get over it. Call him a coward but he was dearly hoping that the problem would mysteriously disappear if only so that he wouldn't have to deal with it. Saving a person from a dragon? Sure, no problem. A find and rescue mission to the depths of a grindylow-infested lake? Without a second's hesitation. But grief counseling and moral support? Eeehhh, not so much. Tom barely talks about what he's feeling. The only reason he talked last time was because of the huge amount of alcohol in his system. And he can't have Tom drunk all the time. Well, _he could_, but that wouldn't resolve anything. But his shortcomings aside that still doesn't mean he is going to let Tom walk all over Penny, the easier target out of all of them.

"And does it make you feel _better_ to take your anger on a four year old?" Charles asked, in a furious but quiet voice, not wanting the girls to hear them fighting. "You can hate the world if you want Tom. But you wont take your anger out on _them_. Don't think you're the only one with problems. As you saw last night, I too, have my demons. Penny still screams in her nightmares about the orphanage and Abby cries herself to sleep most nights because she feels the loss of her old life... I will be patient and understanding with you, but if I feel you're taking out you're anger on them, we _will _have problems Tom." Charles looked at Tom seriously for a few seconds to make sure Tom understood.

Tom, looking at the floor again, nodded. "I don't expect you to be perfect, Tom. But there are a few things everyone must follow. If you follow the simple guideline of 'Don't ever hurt someone who doesn't deserve it' we wont have any problems." Charles looked at his watch and silently cursed. He will be running late if he didn't hurry up. "We can talk later. Today you will be cutting wood for fire, with no magic. You will stop only when you feel that you can be around the girls without snapping at them. I don't care if you cut the entire forest. You will not come to the house until you're calm." Tom looked mad at this but still nodded. "Tom?"

"Yes, I will cut the damn wood, without magic, until I'm calm." He repeated sourly, still looking away.

Charles took his hand and tugged it until Tom was close enough for him to hug.

"You know I care, right?" Charles said close to his ear.

Tom relaxed a little at Charles familiar presence and at the other boy's words. _Someone who cares didn't leave you after one fight right?_ Tom nodded a little to show that he heard and Charles continued, unaware of his thoughts "And you must know Abby loves you and Penny adores you." Not that Tom cared a lot about them but it was still nice to hear that they didn't hate him. Although Tom wouldn't mind if they started being afraid of him. It would make it that much easier for them to obey him when Charles wasn't around.

Tom felt Charles reassuring magic around him like a second hug and relaxed into the hug, putting his head on Charles shoulder. They stayed like that for some time, not talking just feeling the familiar presence of the other.

"This is highly awkward, you do know that don't you?" Tom commented into his shoulder. "The fact that you bribe me with magic doesn't change the fact."

Charles made a concentrated effort in making his aura and magic reflect calmness and relaxation. He smiled widely when Tom sighted and buried himself more in the embrace.

"Cheater." Tom commented without heat.

"If you weren't so adverse of giving me a hug, I wouldn't have to resort to bribery."

"Boy's shouldn't hug." Tom stated

"Say's who?" Charles asked with a frown.

"Everyone." Tom responded like it was common knowledge and for Tom, it was. In the orphanage they would get a severe beating if they looked at a boy for too long in the showers. He had never questioned why this was wrong. He supposed that looking at any naked body was wrong and any boy-to-boy interaction was indecent and reproachable. Why? Who cares, the important thing was not getting another beating.

"I think they mean a different kind of hug between boys, not a brotherly hug." Charles responded with a slight frown, he made a mental note to speak to him about same sex relationships. Charles pushed him away a little.

"I have to go. I left lunch on the cold box it can be eaten cold. Remember to do the safety charms on your clothes before picking up the axe and wear the amulet as added protection. If you don't feel up to it, skip the classes with Penny and Abby." For the last few days Tom had been in charge on some of the girls education but Charles knew that he either had to spend more time with them to teach them properly or put them in school. School sounded a better option since it will meant that they were out of the house, in a safe environment and socializing with children their own age but it also meant that Charles had to look for schools, a new house close to the school, official muggle papers and a lot more things that he hadn't had the time to think about, much less do.

With that he went to go find the girls. He found them in the kitchen, cleaning the mess of breakfast. He sent a little magic to finish it. "Please sit down, we need to talk." They exchanged worried glances and sat down. Charles hated to do this, but there was nobody else to play parent. So it felled on him to be the disciplinary.

"Is there something you want to say about yesterday?" Charles asked seriously, trying to recall what his father would say on this type of situations and coming up blank.

They looked at each other and Penny responded, "We're sorry?" Abby nodded to show her support.

"Sorry for what?" He prodded gently, trying to buy more time before he had to say anything. Charles was not even sure he should be punishing them for what in fact was his mistake but also not wanting to have to be afraid each time he had to leave them on their own.

"Sorry for... yelling..." Penny said uncertainly

"Sorruy for..." Abby stayed at a lost at what she had done wrong.

"When I can't be here, I want you both to behave as if I was. That means no: screaming, fighting or evading you're responsibilities. You both promised that you would take care of the dog and that it wont cause problems. I hope that still stands?" They both nodded profusely. "If you for any reason have a problem with Tom or each other I want you to talk to each other and resolve it. Penny you know you're responsibilities, Tom shouldn't have to remind you. Besides the dog, you are to drink the potions, eat, be clean, study and keep your toys in order. Yesterday you failed in some, I hope that today you wont."

"I wont, I promise." She said fiercely with watery eyes at having disappointed Charles.

"Ok then. Abby the same goes to you." She nodded with her head dropped. "I'll try to come home early but Martha will be stopping by to check on you a few times. Lunch is in the cold box. Be good, love you both."

After Charles left the house Penny looked at Abby and asked, "You think he noticed the broken plate?" She worried out loud.

Abby looked at the hurriedly hidden broken pieces of plate under the table. "No... I think we're good, for now."

* * *

><p>Abraxas Malfoy was <em>not<em> having a good day. His mother came home last night for the first time since she left almost half a year ago. As usual she was drunk silly and blamed him for her failed relationship with her lover. After she tired of throwing things at him she passed out on the floor. He had sent the Elf's to dump her on her room and went to sleep.

His sleep was not as peaceful as he would have hoped, he kept having the same nightmare over and over, and now he felt tired. His nightmare was always the same. He thinks it was, at some point, a real memory, but over the years the nightmare version has overlapped the real memory to the point where he cannot tell were the memory ended and the dream began.

He was four; he knows this because there had been a party the night before in his honour. The family was in the summer manor for the event, as he was walking the long unknown corridors a door close by opened. He went to investigate and... _something_ happened. After that nothing was the same. His mother couldn't bear to see him. His father wouldn't spend time with him and the most frustrating thing is that he's not sure what really happened. He can't remember. His fourth birthday was the last time he had felt loved by his parents and the nightmare of something happening kept repeating over and over. Most of the time the nightmare was that he opened the door and did something to make his parents hate him and each other.

He decided to stop thinking about it because it never does any good to think of it. To add to his already foul mood he had to meet with his mentor today. Just thinking about Winter made rage boil inside him. His father might not be perfect, but at least he _stayed,_ unlike his mother. So he has always tried to be the best in everything so that his father might see him as someone that was _worth _staying for, instead of a disappointment.

He _hated _this Charles Winter that had managed to impress his father and made him wish he were his son instead of Abraxas. He moodily mutilated his toast imagining that it was Charles Winter face.

His father didn't make it to breakfast because he had some important reunion early or so the stupid elf said. When he couldn't delay any more, he made it to the blue tearoom his 'mentor' was supposed to portkey in. Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't this. When the boy appeared he did something completely un-Malfoy and stared... with his mouth open.

"You must be Malfoy Junior. I'm your wandless instructor, Charles Winter." The blue-eyed boy said in an emotionless voice.

"You're younger than me." He blurted unbelieving. _This was his mentor?_

"Good to see you have some observations skills." Charles said with a slight sarcastic edge.

"And Winter is not a pureblood surname." Abraxas felt the need to point out.

Charles ignored this completely and asked instead "Where's Hyperion?"

"Father will be coming shortly." He answered automatically. Charles nodded and sat himself on one of sofas to wait. That made Abraxas extremely mad. He was a _Malfoy_, he shouldn't be dismissed and ignored so easily. This boy should be taught his place!

* * *

><p>As Charles waited for Hyperion to arrive he started thinking on all the problems he had been ignoring lately. His biggest problem was his lack of information. He needed to research and he felt a headache just thinking about all of the things he needed to research on and all the libraries, places and people the information could be hidden all around the world. It was a huge project without even counting caves, buried civilizations and places the sea claimed. He will need help, that was a given. He had never been a scholar or very interested on obscure subjects so he had little previous information that could help.<p>

He could hire people to search all around the world... yeah, he could do that now that he had money. Maybe put them on groups? One group can search for rebirth, souls and the dammed book that started all of this. Another group can research astronomical events that might indicate why this time period is important... but maybe it was something that happened here on Earth and not an astronomical event? That left two more possibilities, a human event or a natural event. So... two more groups?

He also had a shamefully low knowledge on how they can come to our universe... all that physic babble never failed to put him to sleep. There was always other people he could ask if the need ever arouse to know something technical. But now there was no one he could ask. He knows some of the basics, maybe he can teach someone what he knows and hope they can understand and uncover the rest?

But at the same time he couldn't make it obvious what he was seeking... He has managed to avoid trouble and notice so far but that wont be able to continue for long.

Money was also another big problem. He has money but paying to so many people for who knows how long was stretching it. He will need more money to be able to sponsor such a big project... unless he could make money with it somehow. He sighted, rubbed his forehead and just when he felt he was nearing a big epiphany the door opened and interrupted all thought process.

* * *

><p>Hyperion entered the room at a fast but even pace, knowing he was extremely late. If it were anyone else he would have made excuses for his lateness, but since it was Charles and he knew the boy would care less for his insincere words, he said nothing. He was halfway in his greetings when he noticed something.<p>

"Charles why is my son bound and gagged like a pig for slaughter in the corner of the room?" He asked looking at Charles mildly exasperated, but not really surprised. Really, that magic merging ritual had him knowing the boy more than he cared for and doubting his sanity even more. Charles looked confused for a few moments until he looked back at the corner he had dumped Abraxas.

Hyperion felt more insulted that he had forgotten what he had done to his son than the actual deed. He knew Abraxas probably deserved whatever he got. Merlin knew the boy was a waste of space, if he had another, more accomplished, son he would have disinherited him a long time ago. Alas, he had to work with what little he had.

"He asked for a demonstration of power." Charles answered. At Hyperion raised brow, Charles added "In an indirect sort of way." Charles finished with an unconcerned shrug.

"I'm sure you have manage to impress him enough so that he can be liberated." Hyperion responded drily, hiding his amusement with practiced ease. Charles did a careless wave of his hand and his son was released on the priceless Persian rug.

"Anyway... We have a lot to cover today and little time. Let's get started."

...

A few hours later Hyperion and Abraxas were both sitting on the grass, red faced and having a hard time catching their breath.

"Get up and stretch with me or you'll be regretting it later on."

After they were done Charles continued, "You will doing this every day without failing. After you have better endurance we will begin to add more to the routine." He checked his watch "Hyperion is time for you to leave or you will be late for you're next meeting. From tomorrow on we will run at sunrise and work together until nine when you usually have breakfast. We'll have a 45-minute break for breakfast and continue until noon when Hyperion has to leave for work at the ministry. For the unforeseeable future Abraxas you will accompany me during the day and Hyperion during the night for an hour."

"Why would my son be with you most of the day?" asked Hyperion warily, it's not that he thought that Charles would kill the boy but... it was Charles, so it was safer to ask.

"A few reasons. All of them innocent, I promise."

"And one of those reasons is...?"

"To get to know each other."

"Are you not going to do the magic merging thing for that?" He asked confused.

"No. Unless he has some problem that I don't know how to deal with. He can learn without it, I didn't do it with Tom and he managed without it. Adults are more complicated than children." Hyperion nodded, knowing Charles was hiding at least ten of the more important reasons for not doing it, but willing to let the topic drop until they were private.

"So Abraxas come, I have much to do. I will see you at ten in the evening Hyperion." He took Abraxas hand and portkeyed out.

* * *

><p>(Abraxas)<p>

They arrived in front of the smallest cabin Abraxas had ever seen. "Where are we?" He asked looking at the wild valley they had arrived nervously.

"My home."

"People live here?" He asked unbelievably "But... it's so small." He said in a small voice looking at the little cottage. It looked like a House Elf's house. If House Elf's had houses that is, which they don't.

Charles ignored him and said, "We will be here a few minutes and then I have to go to central London."

He saw two blurs with blonde hair, running towards Charles and impacted him at full speed. When Abraxas noticed they were two girls, he fully expected Charles to yell and to punish them. After all he showed this morning that he doesn't accept disobedience and they were _girls_. _Girls_ acting indecently, so they should be doubly punished.

His tutor says that girls should be seen and not heard. His father says that women are to bare children and nothing more, if they are too much of a bother they should be killed. So he was completely confused when Charles picked the youngest and playfully trowed her in the air, hugging her close when she fell gently into his arms, kissed the top of her head and hugged the older one. They continued to the house without noticing him. Really he was getting tired of all the ignoring.

"Eeeuww Charles you're sweaty." Said the oldest in a thick german accent. _Maybe they're from Germany? So maybe that's why I didn't recognized the surname. It figures, his father would never hire a mudblood. _

"Yes Charles you should bathe, you always want us clean." Said the blonde imp. _How can he let them, some females, even if they are family, talk to him like that? It's simply not proper!_

"I guess I'll take a quick shower before leaving."

"You're leaving? Again? But you just got here!" One of them whined.

"Yes Charles, You cant!"

For the first time the little blonde notices him. Her eyes go comically wide and she starts screaming like a banshee. Then he is suddenly flying and before he can comprehend what is happening he is painfully landing. As he is picking himself up and brushing all of the dirt away he noticed they were leaving. Charles forgot about him _again! _He could have been hurt. Killed for all he knew! Was he really so unmemorable? The thought made him slightly depressed.

* * *

><p>Charles felt the change in magic before he saw the effects but he was so surprised about the origin that he did nothing to stop it. <em>Penny was magical<em>. It kept repeating in his head over and over, until a sob broke his trance. Penny had her eyes glassy, not seeing, and sobbing 'let me go' and 'I don't wanna play anymore' over and over. He went to her and picked her up. She started fighting, striking wherever her tiny fits could find.

"Shhh, it's Charles. You're all right. You're safe..." He continued to talk to her in a soft voice until she stopped fighting and just cried her heart out. He carried her to her bed and laid her down. Abby had followed them closely asking in rapid german what had happened and if Penny was all right. He hugged a tearful and scared Abby, told her everything was going to be fine and to just let Penny sleep and went to find Tom. He found him cutting wood in the forest. For a second he almost asked him why he was cutting so much wood until he remembered that he had sent him to do it to relieve his penned up anger.

"Tom!" He yelled when he was in shouting distance. When Tom put down the axe and looked at him, whipping away the sweat Charles blurted, "Penny's a witch!"

* * *

><p><strong>An: . **I'm feeling a little unsure so I'm going to leave the decision up to you guy's . Should I continue with their home life as kids? or should I write all the mayor points in as few chapters as possible and continue on with the a lot of the action I have planned for this story? The point to their home life up until now was to show what is 'normal' to them and the experiences that will later shape them as adults but with the exception of a few mayor key points I could easily cut a lot of the childhood years or a lot of the Malfoy interaction and just mention that it happened. Either way, the first part of the story is nearing it's end (how many chapters depends on what you respond), second part is at Hogwarts and third part is from after Hogwarts until the end (Yes, there is life after Hogwarts as unbeilable as it may seem). Some of the second is already written out and a small bit plus the ending is already done for the third. For me is not much trouble either way, since I wrote it a long time ago in a fit of boredom, it will just save me a lot of time editing it if you decide to skip it and get on with the action.


	13. Chapter 13: See if I care

Title: Old Souls

Rated T/M

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

_Summary_

_He died trying to save the universe... thousands of years in the future. Now he's back in his reincarnation of 1926. Meet Charles, one of the many reincarnations of Harry Potter. He comes to 1930 with big plans, none that involved Tom Riddle._

Chapter 13: See if I care

Tom woke up to the pleasant hum of magic and his heat source moving. He had to admit that few things are as pleasurable as being surrounded by magic and he took a few minutes to enjoy it. But he could do without the constant moving. While sleeping Charles could not control his magic as he did when awake so all that intoxicating magic overflowed and moved freely in and around him and back towards the earth in a constant cycle. Permeating the air with sweet, raw, almost tangible magic that entered, surrounded and intoxicated Tom to the point of sweet madness. Feeling that rush of magic made it more than worth the trouble of keeping Charles from moving and disrupting his sleep. When Charles was asleep, contented and relaxed, for Tom it felt like falling asleep in a warm river of water, that soothed any pain, relieved any stress and made for the best sleep in the world. Any and every excuse was reason enough to sleep close to the boy. If he remembers correctly last night was to 'console' Charles from his nightmare. Of course he did feel a little worried about Charles and that true sentiment was probably what made it so easy to worm his way to Charles bed without the boy kicking up a storm and sending him to his own bed.

But the moving and pushing was getting a little too insistent even for Charles who constantly moved while sleeping, trying to get rid of his human leech, Tom supposed. But Tom was used to Charles sleepy fights for breathing space and just held Charles in an even tighter embrace. Knowing that Charles would eventually tire and fall asleep again. And if he was tired enough Charles would stop trying to move away. But if the angry cursing was anything to go by, Charles had really woken up and wanted to get out of bed. So he reluctantly let go and grabbed the sheets and rolled away with his own brand of cursing. When Charles left the bed Tom found a warm spot and hid from the cold morning air and the harsh light for a few more hours.

The second time, he was rudely woken by a four year old on a mission. Small sticky hands and sloppy lips prodded and nudged him to consciousness. The glare of morning light greeted his crusty eyes but was quickly replaced with big blue eyes, freckles and a button nose. Penelope, his mind supplied him. He somehow managed to convince her that sleeping next to him was a better option than waking up. It must have been his subconscious talking, trying to buy him more time to sleep, because he can't recall a single thing he said. The sun had completely risen by now, lighting the room to an unbearable degree even with clouds blocking must of the sun's glare.

He still fought his way back to unconsciousness but when Charles arrived Tom knew that fighting was futile. Not that it stopped him from trying anyway.

But Charles was as stubborn as a dog with a bone when he wanted something. Be it money, a house or Tom out of bed, Charles would get it. Sometimes it was what Tom most admired of him but most of the time, it was just bloody annoying, not to mention exasperating.

After he had been so _rudely_ taken from his bed -well, maybe not his, it was Charles, but _still,_ he was using it at the time- he had been tortured with incessant babble so that before he even finished his tea, he felt like drowning in it. He couldn't believe he was stuck outside because of one stupid argument with one stupid whinny baby. _It hadn't even been his fault_. She just wouldn't stop talking about the stupidest things. He actually wished Charles would adhere to society rules and enforce both girls to not talk when not talked to and to be good, submissive, stupid little girls. It would save them both a lot of headaches.

Outside was as gloomy as the window from the inside had proclaimed it was. The sky was a grey ceiling, making it hard to tell morning from afternoon. Everything was damp and muddy from last night thunderous rain and a light mist covered the dark green of the forest. The morning chill was inescapable and he wished he had put a second layer of clothes on. His much used black work boots were soon covered in mud as he calmly walked to the back of the cottage towards the trunk Charles stored all of their used equipment accumulated from the months of working with wood.

The chickens they bought almost as soon as the house scattered when he walked by, making an obscene amount of noise in the process. But they kept watching him from a safe distance to see if he will throw some seeds for them. He considered not feeding them and telling Abby he did but on second thought he likes his chicken fat and juicy, eggs in the morning and cakes with his tea too much to risk the chickens health. He grabbed a bag of their food from the small barrel that it was stored and threw liberal amounts on the soil. Like the greedy gluttons they are, they surround him immediately and start pecking the ground.

"Here, here Fried Chicken, eat to your heart's content. Chicken Sandwich you don't have to fight with Chicken-and-Potatoes. Come, come, the Baby Eating monster has come to make you fat and eat your precious eggs." He teased them, glad that they couldn't understand him like the snakes. It would make eating and mocking them slightly harder, but not by much.

After feeding the chickens until they could barely walk, he walked around the white wooden fence that surrounded Abby's admittedly impressive vegetable garden and yelled at the chicken that somehow got in "Chicken Soup, get out of the pumpkins!"

"Bloody annoying birds." he muttered as he shooed the bird out of the garden and closed the garden gate. The garden had to be fenced in after they bought the chickens and dog. They had a fondness for destroying everything.

He reached a simple wooden trunk that was at the side of the cottage and opened it with a golden key from his pocket. Inside the trunk was an assortment of used hammers, nails, sculpting knives and everything they had accumulated over months working. The owner of the wood shop had thrown them because they were broken but Charles had taken them out of the rubbish bin and fixed them with a little magic so they could have them. After taking an axe, a red pendant necklace, a small matching red stone that he put on a hole in the axe and a pair of working gloves he closed the old battered trunk that had seen better day's... a century ago.

"Tom!" he heard Abby yell as he passed the garden. He looked back with an annoyed expression and silently asking _'what?'_ As usual, she ignored his hostility and asked, "Did you feed the chickens?" She had dressed in a simple but long warm dress, working boots and her long hair braided, her gardening gloves in one hand and a shovel in another.

"No." He lied and kept walking towards his destination, a fifteen-minute walk towards a few trees that had already been cut down and were waiting to be chopped for firewood. He couldn't see what people saw in Abigael, she was just a tall stick figure that seemed innocent _until_ you find yourself in a pink dress with an obscene amount of ruffles, drinking tea with dolls and no idea what kind of black magic made you agree or why threats of bodily harm were not working to get you out but instead seemed to add to the number of accessories, sugar on the tea and doll's in the table. He shivered at the traumatizing memory and with some help from Charles mental exercises, pushed it back and concentrated on not tripping over the uneven terrain.

For the next few hours his world shrunk down to the axe in his hand and the stubborn wood that refused to be cut cleanly in half. A mixture of sweat and dirt covered every inch of his body with leaves and twigs stuck on his hair and trousers. Right now there were no thoughts, only sounds to fill the silence in his mind. The 'swish' of the axe cutting a path through the air, the 'tud' when it landed on the piece of wood, his heavy breathing and the movement of the trees when a particularly strong wind passed.

His whole mind was focused on simply making his arms move, over and over again. Raising the axe, letting it fall with as much force as his small body was capable, putting one foot to hold the wood in place while using all of his strength to unstuck the axe from the piece of wood and raise it back again. He found a soothing pleasure in the mechanical movements of his body and the pain of his overworked body. No amount of mental practice could stop his arms from shaking and feeling like they were about to fall off but it helped him push past his body's limits.

He hadn't _felt_ mad earlier but the pile of almost pulverized wood gave silent testimony to the blind rage that had consumed him once he had nothing to distract his mind with or someone to take the brunt of his anger.

What he didn't want to think was of the rich father he imagined for the last three years _-so much wasted time!-_ coming to save him from the unclaimed, unwanted, unloved and the generally ignored section of society. _The lowlifes, the worthless, and the scum_ _of society_ his unmerciful mind continued to fill him in. The ones that are only good to polish the shoes of the rich or to make them feel good when around Christmas time the made a petty donation.

Of the beautiful mother, not the rotting one on the graveyard, that for some dastardly evil plan of the Mrs. Riddle didn't know her son was still alive, of Mrs. Cole lying to him about the death or identity of his mother ... all of his day dreams, hopes and fantasies. It seems all so childish now. _He_ had been so childish. With the cold hard truth of _knowing_, not just suspecting or hoping, that he had not _only_ a father, but grandparents from his father's side, a grandfather from his mother's side and an uncle from her mother's side and no one, _not one_ of them had ever looked for him made him...mad.

Not just mad, furious, filled with an all-consuming hatred that burned him from the inside out leaving him feeling hollow. But even anger was the better emotion, the one he preferred to be consumed by, than the other emotion that was battling to warner attention. Hope. Hope to have a true real family. Hope to meet them, to hear their reasoning. Hope that it's a good enough reason and he can forgive them. Foolish, stupid, senseless hope. He welcomed anger, his oldest friend, and cut, staved, mutilated and pulverized the dammed wood until it stopped resembling a tree and looked more like unfortunate dust.

He even set fire to a few trees and enjoyed the general destruction until he realized what a stupid idea it had been when he almost lost control of the situation and burned the whole forest. Luckily there had been rain the night before so everything was damp and the fire didn't spread...much. He did have the pleasure of watching a squirrel catch fire and run around in blind panic, which had been rather amusing.

But that had been hours ago and he has long let go of thinking, physical pain taking precedent over emotional pain. He knew that the moment he stopped he wouldn't be able to continue, that his body would stop responding and force him to rest. But he didn't want to rest, didn't want to stop, right now he wanted this inner calm and quietness of mind. The only thing he wanted to worry about was the pain on his arms and back and what wood he would cut next.

He felt Charles before he turned to see him approach. The charged energy in the air that only happened when Charles was around and drew Tom in like drug to the addict. But how could it not?

He turned and watched as Charles walked towards him with a poise that caught the eye without effort. Of course the image was destroyed when Charles, too caught up in his thoughts, tripped in the uneven terrain and cursed loudly.

For a moment Charles looked critically at the mess of mutilated wood and burnt trees but thankfully didn't comment on it and instead blurted "Penny's a witch!" when he was close enough to be heard.

Tom's mind stopped and he swore he must have heard wrong or his mind was too tired.

"What? -How?-...Wait, _what?_" Tom asked more than a little confused.

"Penny did magic just now!" Charles repeated excitedly but his face freezes a moment later "Wait, _damn it!_ I forgot about Abraxas."

"What did she do? And... Who is Abraxas?" Tom asked cautiously, not liking the anxiousness in Charles voice at the name. Now that Charles was closer Tom noted his sweaty plastered hair and that he seemed to have been doing physical exercises if his clothes, weird as they may be, were the ones he used when working. Tom might understand that they are more practical and comfortable to use when running and sweating but he would not be caught using them in public.

"Abraxas is Malfoy Junior" Charles quickly explained "and she pushed him at least five feet into the air because she got scared of his presence in the house... brought back bad memories for her."

Tom nodded solemnly. Even if Penelope was a whinny baby that should have been drowned on birth, she was _their _whinny baby that should have been drowned on birth so he felt somewhat protective of her even if she annoyed the hell out of him. _Possessive_ would be a better word, but Charles wouldn't like that word so he stuck with 'protective'. He chose to ignore that this morning he was attacking her. _He_ didn't count and now that she was a witch she was even more important. Not that much important, but she went up from disgusting slug that needed to be watched to annoying monkey that he needed to make sure didn't kill itself. Abby's transition in Tom's mind had been much smother. Abigael went from 'meal ticket' to 'partner in crime' when Tom found out that they could gang up on Charles and win against the stubborn boy if they united forces. The good old day's when it had been just the three of them and they could out vote Charles.

Still, Tom felt rather exited at another magical person in the family, even if it was only Penelope. The only one left was Abby, but he had a feeling that she would never be a magic user. _Thank god for that!_ He thought with relief.

He shivered just thinking what _she_ would do with magic. A pink world full of ruffles and mandatory tea parties with dolls patrolling to make sure your bow was straight and that the ruffles were ruffled flashed by his mind and he couldn't suppress his shiver. Bloody menace that that girl was would probably still manage it even without the magic. His grimace was confused for concerned and he allowed Charles to misinterpret his thoughts.

"Is she alright now?" Tom asked, if only for Charles sake. He knew that if something bad had _really_ happened to Penelope it would have been the first thing out of Charles mouth, not her magical status. He was weird like that, more concerned with the person's safety than gender or magical status.

"She's sleeping, do you mind watching her closely? I still have some errands but I'll be back early." Charles asked worriedly, biting his lower lip in a rare show of genuine doubt and anxiousness.

"Of course." Tom responded immediately. Not that he had any choice anyway.

"Great, I'll take a quick shower and be on my way... and Tom?" Charles asked hesitantly and Tom's warning bells went off, when Charles was hesitant about asking him something, it always was because Charles _knew_ he would not like it.

"Yes Charles?" Tom asked with a little trepidation

"Be nice to Abraxas." Tom frowned and didn't answer. The boy was in _their _house and he had _no right_ to intrude in their place.

"If he steps out of bound I'll deal with him. He's annoying but remember that his father is paying us and we can't lose this chance." Charles added.

Tom nodded but still felt mad that Charles had brought him home. Their home, _his home_. And felt it was his right to teach this _Abraxas_ that this was their place and he shouldn't get any funny ideas. Like that Charles liked him, or like Charles was his -shudder- friend. He was Charles _only_ friend.

Or that he could come live with them...

"He's not staying, right?" Tom suddenly asked for clarification.

"Of course not." Tom breathed a little easier at Charles quick answer and they went together to the cottage to find a fuming Abraxas.

As they neared the boy Tom assumed was Abraxas he took the time to study him. He was displeased to find that the boy was older than them by a year or two if he guessed correctly. Tom was amused to find that even if Abraxas was dressed richly he had the same unusual style of clothes Charles prefers. Doubtlessly Charles idea, he can't imagine a world were the proud Malfoy family would wear that out of their own volition.

The boy looked a lot like his father, Hyperion, but he lacked the confidence that made Hyperion look proud instead of spoiled. Tom wonders if he too looks like his father but crushed the thought.

Right now Abraxas petulant pout made him look childish instead of indignant.

"That girl should be flagged! She attacked a pureblooded _boy._" Abraxas half yelled. Charles hand on Tom's shoulder and his earlier words were the only thing that kept Abraxas in one piece. Tom had calmed considerably after taking his anger on the wood but he still had plenty of pent up anger left to teach this pretentious boy a lesson in coming to another person's house and demanding to flag someone. Terribly rude. If they flagged her and he doubted they would, considering Charles and Abigael's lax teaching methods, it would not be because this prissy little boy demanded it!

"Abraxas you just won yourself fifty laps around the house. Start now, I'll be watching." Charles demanded in a voice that Tom knew meant it was futile arguing with. The boy apparently had not learned this lesson and continued on his tirade.

"You can't do that! She _attacked_ me. A pureblood wizard, _a Malfoy_." The annoying boy repeated like he thought they were incapable of understanding the situation. Like if stressing he was a boy and she was a girl made all the difference. It probably would, Tom conceded, if it had been anyone else but Charles.

By now, Tom was starting to truly detest the boy. It reminded him a little too much of the older boy's in the orphanage with their demanding and superior attitude. No wonder Penelope attacked him. He felt like punching him too, just for the hell of it.

"Fifty laps. _NOW_. We will talk after you finish." Charles tone of voice and his eyes warned Abraxas that it was not a good idea to keep talking.

Abraxas was still a little scared from his show of power from this morning and didn't want to test a mad Charles so early. He started on the laps grumbling under his voice a string of words that his father would likely strike him if he heard.

Charles turned to Tom and said "Send a light stinging hex if he stops or cheats. And please note that I said _light,_ as in no more than a slight burning sensation and _if _he stops or cheats." Tom nodded and Charles sent a thankful small smile and went to take his much needed bath.

Charles heard Abraxas surprised yell a few times but ignored it, trusting that Tom wouldn't go _too _overboard, if only so that _he_ doesn't get punished with more work. After Charles finished and put cleaned clothes on, he went to find something to eat as he was famished after a long morning of working with the Malfoys. He saw on the kitchen window that Abraxas was still running with a pained and scared look and sighed in resignation. He made two sandwiches and served two lemonades and took them outside. The others had already eaten the lunch he had prepared in the morning so he didn't worry. Abraxas was still running and Tom was watching him like a hawk.

"Abraxas you can stop now." Charles said to the boy when Abraxas was within hearing distance.

"He still hasn't finished" Tom protested rather loudly.

"I think he will be in a more pleasant mood now. Wont you Abraxas?"

"Y-yes" Abraxas managed to say between breaths.

"Great. I made you lunch."

"You made it?" Abraxas asked confused and a little breathless "What about your House Elfs?"

"We have none. Strange isn't? And we are still alive! Fancy that. You will also learn to live without the House Elf's wonderful magic."

Abraxas looked a little sick. Charles wasn't sure if it was all the running or the thought of living without permanent servants.

"In this house Abraxas, if I ever decide to bring you back, you will not think yourself superior to any of it's occupants. Magic or no magic, pureblooded or not, boy or girl, it will not matter to you. They will be your equals and you will treat them as such... or face the consequences. Speaking of consequences, you will not be punished physically, ever. You will be asked to do extra physical activity. If you do something severe I might decide not to teach you all together. Remember that _you_ are paying _me_ for my services and I wont tolerate bad behavior or you acting out. It will be a long three years if you decide to make my work harder. If you do what I ask of you and respect me and my family you will find yourself powerful and strong at the end of the three years. Is that clear?"

Abraxas nodded. "Good." said Charles, turning to Tom and momentarily forgetting about Abraxas "Tom, Abby's birthday is in a few days..." Charles and Tom kept discussing different present ideas and things they could do on the day while he ate the sandwiches until Abraxas interrupted their conversation.

"Why do you live in this dump?"

"Tom, why don't you check on Penny?" Charles said, forcibly shoving Tom in the house to stop him from killing Abraxas. He looked at Abraxas when Tom was safely inside and saw genuine curiosity mixed with insecurity and fear. Abraxas was probably regretting his comment by now but was too proud to apologize. Charles took a moment to look at the isolated house critically. To see what Abraxas saw. The place looked old and weathered, the doors tended to squeal, the floorboards creaked, it was small and the places they had fixed looked like patches because of the noticeably lighter wood that had been used. It might not be much, but to a group of kids that had nothing to call their own, it was everything.

Charles looked at Abraxas after a long silence and responded, "This was the first house we bought when we came to England. At the time we couldn't afford more."

"But wouldn't you prefer to live in a nice manor now that you can afford it?" Abraxas prodded, for some reason he _needed_ to know.

"Perhaps someday." Charles answered simply. "Come, I have a few things to take care of." Charles extended his arm and for some reason Abraxas didn't hesitate in taking it and the portkey took them away.

* * *

><p>"Martha! You look terrific did you cut your hair?" Charles immediately greeted when he saw the familiar patch of white hair surrounded by potted plants<p>

She turned and spotted them coming from the back room "I did! You like?" she responded joyfully putting down the water can and posing on her best side.

"It looks amazing Martha." Charles responded dutifully, knowing better than to say otherwise.

"Oh Charles! You're such a charmer. How are the girls? I miss them terribly. This store feels awfully lonely without them now."

"That's part of the reason I'm here. Abby's birthday is coming up soon and I was hopping you could stop by the cabin after you close the store."

"That would be lovely, thank you for inviting me darling. Are you going to introduce me to this handsome young man?" She said looking closely at Abraxas. Something about her sharp look told Charles that maybe, she knew more than she was willing to tell.

"Oh right! Sorry Martha, Martha this is Abraxas Malfoy, Malfoy this is Martha, owner of this flower shop and almost family."

"A pleasure Madame." Abraxas said neutrally, hiding his disgust that a _woman_ was owner of a shop. And what a stupid shop it was, House Elf's were more than enough for planting and caring for plants. _Why would Winter associates with such people? _

"Likewise Mr. Malfoy, any friend of Charles is always welcome." She turned to Charles "I'm glad your meeting more kids your age, you're too serious for your own good, child." She said, patting his cheek.

Charles forced a smile "Of course Martha, but we have to leave or else I'll miss my next appointment."

"Of course darling, run along."

"Where are we?" asked Malfoy once they were outside.

"Muggle London."

"Father says mugles are dangerous animals."

"You shouldn't take your father's word on certain subjects." _Like all_. "You will see for yourself that they look and act exactly like wizards. Magic or no magic we are all capable of great good or great evil." _I sound so old and philosophical_ thought Charles a little depressed. The old he could deal with but the philosophical vomit was just depressing.

Charles took a wide-eyed Abraxas through muggle London, occasionally explaining this or that. Charles stopped and asked in a few places until he found a well-connected man. Charles paid him for information on where to find the names, address and public journals/books of science passionate people. With some money to the right hands he had all the information he needed and twenty of the last science journals and some published works. It was something he had wanted to do for a long time. Some of Earth's greatest minds are alive in this decade. _Albert Einstein is alive_, breathing and kicking somewhere right now.

Gilbert Newton Lewis, the first person to prepare "heavy water" that later became important in the development of the atomic bomb. Louis duc de Broglie showed that electrons have properties of both particles and waves. Peter Debye received the Nobel Prize in chemistry for his work on dipole moments and on the diffraction of X-rays and electrons in gases. And they are just a few of the hundreds of men and women who will change how people think and see the world. And they are alive right now, not just names on the pages of history, but people. _People who could help him. _

And Charles was thinking of doing something _really_ stupid. Like breaking the main reason time travelers were not allowed to make contact. Contacting them and sharing information, not a lot... not really. Just like a few hundred years of information. It's not really _that_ much in the grand scheme of things. And he technically wasn't a time traveller. This body belongs to this time. Technically. The devil is in the details isn't he?

That could go really well or... catastrophically bad. And who knows, maybe that is why this time is important and he's not just making a huge mistake. Maybe.

But he badly needed help and was just desperate enough to risk it.

They stopped in a coffee shop on their way back to Martha's. Charles wanted to start on reading and writing the letters. Home was usually not a place to do work, unless it was at night when everyone was asleep. He also wanted to make Abraxas relax around him. For some reason the boy seemed to hate him even before their meeting. He strongly suspected Hyperion fatherly skills. Or lack of skills.

Well at least that was his intention, until he noticed he had been three hours drinking tea and reading papers and had forgotten about the boy's presence, again. In his defense this was superb reading material and he had to write the letters carefully, with just enough information to interest them in writing him back but without saying too much too soon. Imagine a university with all of the greatest minds, fathers of human science, and all of the technology he could provide... Abraxas, right.

"So why do you hate me?" Charles asked. _Subtle,_ _Real subtle Charles! But whatever. He had never been one to beat around the bush. More like jumping on top of it and hoping for the best._

"Why do you tend to forget me?" Abraxas asked back. Charles looked at Abraxas closely and said "Touché." Admitting that the boy had the better point. Charles really shouldn't be ignoring him, even if accidentally. Especially not accidentally.

"And since we are being honest." Abraxas continued. "Why are you so... strange_?_" It was something that had been bothering him since the moment he met his mentor. He was just…not normal.

Charles blinked and the started laughing -loudly-

"People are staring!" Abraxas whispered, completely embarrassed about the attention they were gathering. "Stop laughing. You have an ugly laugh!"

"I don't have an ugly laugh." Charles defended with wide amused eyes. He actually knew he laughed...strangely but no one had out right said it was ugly, at least not to his face.

"Yes you do. It's like a laughing dog with breathing problems."

" A laughing dog with breathing problems?" Charles repeated, "Have you even seen a dog with breathing problems?" Charles challenged but could hardly finish it with how much he was laughing. It had been way too long since someone mocked him and were _embarrassed_ to be seen with him.

"Of course I have! My dog, Galleon, can't walk up the stairs without being breathless and making weird choking sounds."

Sadly Abraxas said this as Charles was taking a sip of his tea. Tea and snorting do not make a good combination as Charles demonstrated.

Abraxas knew he should feel horror at the lack of proper manners but he couldn't stop laughing to properly scold him. "Tea… tea came out of your nose. Disgusting... but awesome, didn't know one could do that."

"To answer your question …Well you know what they say, what doesn't kill you..."

"Makes you stronger?"

"No!" Charles grinned brilliantly "Makes you _stranger_."

"Nobody says that!"

"They should. Come it's getting late." Charles put a pound to cover their expenses and a big tip and they left the place.

They walked a few streets until Charles stopped at a supply shop.

"Thought you said we were leaving." Abraxas whined and pouted.

"Just a second."

It was an hour before ten, the time Charles had to meet with Hyperion. He was talking with Tom in their room, the girls were already sleeping, and when the topic of Abraxas was reached and they somehow managed to start fighting. He had absolutely no idea how it started or why it spiraled out of control so quickly.

"Tom you're being ridiculous!" Charles whispered harshly, wanting to scream it but stopping himself because the girls were just a room away.

"Am I now?" Tom responded calmly

"You are being completely unreasonable." responded Charles exasperated.

"Oh I see, is that what we're doing? All right, well, I'll play that game with you." Tom said in a mocking tone.

"Oh yeah what are you going to do?" Charles challenged recklessly, acting his age without much effort. Tom just had the ability to make him mad enough to act like the child he was.

"You think I care about you? I don't."

"Yes you do. I know you do."

"I don't _really_ care. No, you're just smart enough and just clever enough to occasionally amuse me. If I had anybody else -anybody else to chose from- I would. You are the best from a bad situation. Nothing more. I use you." Tom said viciously

"I would know if you use me." Charles responded but he didn't sound too sure of himself.

"Oh, oh, you would?" Tom mocked

"Yes." Charles answered testily

"You don't know anything about me or about what I'm capable of." There was a challenge hidden in Tom's eyes, daring him to say that he truly knew Tom. "Come on, say it. Lie, like you always do."

"... I'm leaving. Before I say or do something I may regret, but will certainly enjoy."

"Go. See if I care."

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for all that reviewed. It really made me take time from not-studying-but-pretending-to and finish editing this chapter. As always I appreciate the input and the subtle reminder that I have to sit down and finish editing and fleshing out this story. <strong>


	14. Chapter 14: Treading on deep waters

Chapter 14: Treading on deep waters

The smell of rotting garbage, thick and warm in the lazy breeze of summer night air reached his nose like a brick wall. It was the first and only warning for any lost soul to turn back and go to the nicer parts of town. With only the moon and the orange glow of a few man-made fires on rubbish bins to scare the shadows in this rat-infested part of town. Half-hearted attempts to drive away the consuming darkness of night.

Those small fires, not enough to light more than a meter, helped the general sanity of the humans living in the area to pretend that the demons in the dark corners were only a trick of the light, part of their overactive imagination, instead of lighting the corners and be proven wrong.

A small lone figure in black cloak could be seen walking down the street, passing abandoned stores with locked doors and barred windows. At this late hour the street was full of noise and movement of night duelers.

The howl of a cat was heard in the distance, hushed conversations of men in ratty clothes surrounding a fire in a rubbish bin and the sadistic laughter of teenagers up to no good drowned the sounds of the boy's soft steps.

By day, this street was like any other street in this section of town: ugly, abandoned and forgotten but by night it was another matter altogether. By night this was _the_ highway of the Otherworld. Also called Bloodworld, Underworld, Darkworld, Fangworld, Demonland and Claw-territory it all depends who you ask.

It also catered to groups of humans involved in the _very_ profitable market of human slavery, drugs and weapons. Some humans knew whom they were dealing with, most didn't care and the rest turned a blind eye at the inhuman red or gold eye color or the preference of bloody drinks and rare meat. Money and blood ruled these parts and if you valued your life, better not to ask, better not look and better not _talk_.

Unconcerned blue eyes took notice of every detail in a quick, casual, look. The fifteen or so humans around knew better than to dare look for more than a second at an unknown player walking so calmly and confidently. If the small figure would have looked lost, afraid or out of place things would have been different. But their survival instincts, sharpened by the rough life on the streets, could detect the danger oozing out of the delicate frame. None dared approached him.

Undeterred, the figure continued walking towards the pitch-black alleys that the smart ones tended to avoid. So it was expected then, that when the figured reached the end of the alley it was full of street children of various ages. All of them trying to prove how tough they were by being so close to the nest of the Dammed. The youngest looked around twelve and the oldest around seventeen and in total no more than ten.

Less than half will be breathing tomorrow morning. Their bodies never found and their existence never missed.

Blue eyes looked in distaste at how careless they were throwing away their lives. The figure stuck to the shadows and hurried his pace; even he was not arrogant enough to stick around in such a dangerous place.

He too knew he shouldn't be here, that he was unprepared and that the smart thing would be to turn around and wait until he was at least a teen, with a taller and stronger body that could defend itself without magic and with stamina to run if necessary. It was not wise to depend on magic as the only means of protection, especially not on these parts. But not even the wisdom of hundreds of past lives could stop the foolishness of youth.

He felt restless and inpatient, thinking that a lot of time has passed -_years_- and he has done nothing, found nothing and accomplished nothing. Wisdom is truly learned from personal experience, memories of others -even other versions of himself- are like the wise words of a parent. Never truly believed until time and experience _painfully_ shows you otherwise.

A little more, just a few more streets, and he would reach his destination. A rather peculiar 'bookstore' that specializes in finding rare books and information, for a price. Owned by a more than peculiar man, Nicolas Flamel. Known in the Wizardly World as a scholarly alchemist, married and recluse but harmless. Those who whisper in the night tell very different tales. His very name brings shivers and a warning to stop talking. What is truth and what is myth is very hard to determine.

His skin was prickling with the repulsive magic moving dispassionately in the air. This area of town was saturated with creature magic. All magical beings basically use the same magic, raw magic, but since raw magic has detrimental effects on the body almost all magical beings pass magic thru their magical core where magic gets diluted and in the process 'tainted' by the physiology and personality of the being. Diluted magic is weaker than raw magic but safer for the body and easier to control. Magical exhaustion just means that the amount of diluted magic in the body has been used and that if you don't wait until raw magic gets diluted in the core you may put your body in danger. Magic is extremely addicting, once the fetus has been exposed to magic it can never survive without it.

For the blue-eyed wizard the combination of magic in this area felt like walking through sludge. For this reason he didn't felt them until they were too close to run away unnoticed. He did a quick count of the predators before they were close enough to sense the magic and mentally cursed his dammed luck. Tonight of all nights the vampires decided to raid the streets for 'donors'.

Six, too many for him and would bring too much unwanted attention to confront them. He was in a precarious position. He couldn't do magic because the bloodsuckers were usually pretty good at detecting magic and he had a small child-like body that could never hope to defend against physical attacks. Activating the portkey would be suicidal without knowing the kinds of wards in place. The only thing he could do now was pass-by unnoticed and look for an opportunity to escape without drawing the attention of any dangerous immortal.

With an irritated pull he took off his cloak and transfigured his fine clothes to ratty, too big for his frame, dirty rags. He heard the swish of the heavy material from their cloaks and clicks from their boots as they surrounded the still blissfully ignorant group of children. As they neared he forced his body to relax and with iron will, made his magic levels unnoticeable.

It felt wrong.

Forced.

Like swallowing something that clearly was three times bigger than your mouth and like vomit, the magic tried to force its way out of his body. He has never done this before but self-preservation has always been a strong motivator and a merciless teacher. It's either learn or die.

He didn't have to wait long; the shadows grew until the sky and both entrance of the alley were pitch black. For a moment there was complete silence and then an explosion of screams. Without sense or logic the children ran from one black clad individual only to run straight to the waiting arms of another on the opposite side. Their sobs increased as the circle of six Vampires closed in on them. Charles was not surprised that some of the children had knifes, sticks or some other weapon on their person and was equally unsurprised when they couldn't hit or damage their opponents.

Without much effort he put a mask of fear suitable for the situation, careful not to bring attention towards himself. He couldn't be the most scared or the most brave, those tended to bring attention toward themselves. He forced his body to shake and didn't look up. His blue eyes were too noticeable, too sharp and intelligent, to pass unnoticed and he wasn't confident he could mask his feelings from his eyes.

He felt a flare of accidental magic from one of the kids and felt sorry for the boy or girl, he or she won't survive the night. If he would have looked up he would have seen the previously bored and uncaring faces flash in interest and hunger at the possibility of drinking magical blood. A hand touched his shoulder and in the time from one blink to another he found himself staring at white marble floors instead of the dirty pavement. The hand quickly drew away and he mentally thanked whatever god/goddess/deity/ghost or spirit that might hear him that the vampire didn't touch his skin directly. Otherwise the vampire would have felt the tornado of magic he was trying so hard to keep inside of him.

He took a chance and looked around. The ceiling was three meters tall supported by long marble columns with rich carvings. The room was an antechamber with two small exits and the double door entryway to the main room. The walls were devoid of decoration, only slick slabs of white marble. A golden, clearly expensive, crystal chandelier hanged in the middle of high ceiling.

He estimated around fifty other children present, all of them like the group of ten he came with, dirty, skinny and dressed in rags, with two vampires guarding each door. The six vampires that took them left without ever uttering a word. The two vampires guarding the main chamber door let them pass without word and closed the doors quickly after. From the few seconds the doors opened, music and laughter could be heard.

Charles wanted to scream in frustration and laugh hysterically simultaneously. He looked at his feet and let a small bitter smile shine trough.

_He was so fucked. _

_-Two hours earlier-_

_"Go. See if I care." Tom responded acidly. _

That had been fifteen minutes ago. Since then he had portkey'ed to Malfoy Manor and had been looking critically at the fine selection of alcohol in the Malfoy manor cellar were Hyperion found him after not seeing him in the usual room he portkeyed in.

"So let me see if I got this right. You planned a meeting at ten in the night to come and drink from _my_ bar and _my_ hundred galleon collection of alcohol." Hyperion voice was a mix of incredulity, annoyance and amusement.

"Of course not! I have a master plan." Charles answered. Truthfully, he just needed the alcohol after fighting with Tom but no sense in telling him that.

"And it involves alcohol?" Hyperion asked incredulously

"All successful master plans involve alcohol. Be it in the planning process or in the execution." He muttered under his breath.

"But really, is there a purpose or you just want to free me from all the alcohol in the manor?"

"Both. I need some information but I could use the drink and since I have no faith that you will give me the good stuff, I prefer to chose it myself."

"No need to be honest, Charles. I have always been very happy with people lying to me. It has worked out just fine for the last twenty-eight years of me life. No need to start bothering me with the truth."

Charles smiled but Hyperion noticed that it seemed forced and that there was a tension that hadn't been there this morning.

"Tsk, tsk. We need to change that then. Tell me Hyperion, What do you know of Nicholas Flamel?"

Tense silence met his question; Charles stopped pretending to look at the date of a bottle, looked back and raised a questioning brow at Hyperion. The usually handsome man was pale and hiding his suddenly shaking hands asked "Why do you want information on that..._man_?"

* * *

><p>What were the chances that he would inadvertently stumble in the prestigious World Vampire Conference celebrated every hundred years in an unplotable location were only crème de la crème of the Vampire World was invited?<p>

Just being him upped the chances to... _inevitable. _

If he was lucky, no less than three hundred of the strongest, smartest, most powerful and influential vampires were in that chamber. Realistically speaking there must be around five hundred, still less than one percent of all the Vampires in the world.

For a moment he regrets not taken his chances with the six vampires in the alley. But even now he knows it would have been foolish. They would have been excited about the challenge and would have not stopped until he was trapped. He wasn't arrogant or conceited to think he could take more than one vampire at a time, much less six. They would have known about his magic and that was deadly when it was just six, now it was just plain suicide. He would have had so many bites that his body would have been mutilated beyond recognition unless he managed to kill all six before they could call for backup. Even if they didn't call for backup and he somehow managed to kill all six of them, the magic he would have had to use would have brought others like sharks. He would have had to fight every single vampire, werewolf, demon, human and creature in a five-mile radius while the rest cheered and betted, trilled at the improvised gladiator game on a weeknight. They usually are held on Sundays.

A side door opened and twenty children, clean and dressed in simple white togas, calmly walked out and were ushered into the main chamber. None were crying or complaining. He noticed that they had facial features common of East Asia and were mostly teens. Two had golden togas that marked them as magical. He quickly lowered his eyes when he noticed a vampire guard looking at him or at something close to him.

Only a few minutes later another group of clean and toga-clad children crossed the doors towards the main chambers accompanied by an escort of four vampires.

_Just how many kids did they kidnap from around the world for tonight? And what does that say of the number of Vampires present? Sucking a child dry would satisfy a Vampire for two days, to kill a teen or an adult it takes at least two vampires...He has seen around ninety children and teens combined and he estimates around three to five hundred vampires... That doesn't bode well for his continued health. _

Four vampires moved to divide the group of fifty or forty still dirty children into two smaller groups of twenty and led one of them to a side door. Charles stayed hidden in the group that was left behind, he wanted more time to observe and hopefully by the time he enters the main chamber most of the Vampires present would have satisfied their appetite. It seemed that the group of ten that were with him were the last of the catch for tonight's celebration since no other group has arrived since then.

How _fortunate_ for him to be at the right place, at the right time to make it to tonight's memorable celebration. A few minutes later or sooner and he would have missed it, made it to the 'bookstore' -a rather loose term for that place- and would have hopefully made it out without much trouble and some lead. It was supposed to be a simple -get it, get the info, and get out type- of scenario. Nice, easy and clean.

He swears Luck must be a woman and he must have royally pissed her off. Something along the lines of cheating with her best friend, impregnating her mother, getting caught giving a blowjob to her father and insinuating she was fat. There was no other way he could have this much bad luck unless it was personal.

After what must have been fifteen minutes but felt like hours he, along with the rest, were escorted out of a side door and into a long equally rich and scarcely decorated corridor. Charles counted five doors on each side and no windows. The second to last door was opened and they were ordered to enter and undress. The room was large and simple, with no other doors than the one they entered, no windows or things one could hide. He ignored the cries, screams and pleads around him and concentrated on his mask. On the outside his eyes were wide and fearful, shaky small hands worked his body out of his transfigured clothes and on the inside he worked to control his furious magic and forced it inside. His magic was a mirror image of his mental state and it was taking all of his concentration to force it down when he was in distress.

It was the downside of doing wandless magic for many years. His magic was always on the surface of his skin, just waiting to be called. The connection between his mind and magic was too strong, too natural. There was almost no time in between his mind willing it and his magic responding. His body, too used to the brutal treatment of poorly diluted magic cursing trough, let it flow unperturbed.

To be able to use so much wandless magic at such a young age he had to sacrifice some control and since he was constantly using his reserve of diluted magic his body had shortened the time it spent diluting raw magic because it was better to suffer some damage that it could later be healed than to die because of magical shortage.

Wandless magic also tended to be unpredictable and rarely did the same thing the same way. It also takes a ridiculous amount of control and will power to channel the reaction to produce the desirable result and easily takes ten times more magic out of the person. Reasons why most people never manage it.

The moment his clothes fell to the floor they disappeared and a few seconds later cold water started pouring down on his head viciously. The force of the water almost forces him to his knees. He could not open his eyes to see more than his feet because of the violent waterfall that he was apparently under.

Chaos, absolute chaos, formed the second the door closed and the water started. Screams pierced his ears as if it was acid, instead of water, purring down on them. He was elbowed by a child running wildly and knocked down by a forceful push on his back. He landed on the wet tile and had to suppress his magic from lashing out at the child that stepped on top of his hand. He stood up and tried to avoid colliding with the running children but a hand smacked him on the mouth. He tasted the metallic flavor of his blood from a scratch on his lower lip. He quickly cleaned his mouth and sent a tiny little bit of magic to close the wound. This was _not_ the time to have an open wound.

As abruptly as it began it stopped, leaving two dozen shivering nude children standing awkwardly and a few unlucky ones bleeding on the floor. A door appeared on the previously blank wall and with a few barked orders they were ushered into another almost identical room.

This room was heavy with magic and it put his nerves on edge to not be able to identify all of the enchantments without letting go of his magic. A spike in magic later and he, and everyone else, was completely dry. Not one child in the room knew about magic and they were suitably panicked. A boy was taken apart and dressed with a golden toga while the rest were given white togas by the _oh-so-helpful_ human assistants that had entered the room in a subdued manner and professionally ignored the pleas for help by the scared and crying children.

Charles couldn't judge them because he too was doing the exact same thing. He hadn't looked at the face of one child since the alley and has been trying his hardest at not hearing them. He's not sure he could control the impulse of doing something stupid -not to mention suicidal- if he looks at them in the face. He ruthlessly killed the hero in him that wanted to save them all and felt something deep in him die with it. The world was not perfect, people died every single day and he couldn't save them all.

When he saw the potion that was being forced down the throat of the others he felt a mild panic attack. _He couldn't be sedated_. He needed his mind sharp to have a modicum of possibility to escape.

When his time came he took the potion without fuss and since it was inside his body and the human was non-magical he risked using magic to change it to water, sugar and salt and proceeded to swallow it to appease the woman watching him closely.

He was at the back of the line so the first thing he noticed when the double door to the main chamber opened was the noise. Soft music, tinkling laughter and soft murmured conversations. Not the amount of noise one would expect from the amount of people in the room. But then again, they were vampires and had sharp hearing; there was no need to talk loudly. It was pleasantly lighted with wax candle chandeliers that gave the room a pleasant golden glow, not too bright to annoy the vampires but not too dark for human eyes. With his face cast downwards he did a quick check of the room. If he guessed correctly from the short 'tour' this is the main ballroom of a _magical_ castle. In other words, he was so fucked that not even a necromancer would be able to raise him from the dead. Magical castle are infamous for changing their structure to disorient guests. Friendly ones like Hogwarts only made it inconvenient; unfriendly ones on the other hand...well, they usually only find the bones decades later.

With lead in his stomach and adrenaline cursing his veins he entered the main chamber.

Charles was not sure what he expected, but this was surely not. White marble, gold highlights and simple but rich flower arrangements dominated the room. The low light of the candles gave a mystical and magical feel to the room. The ceiling was easily five stories high and was, ironically, painted with angels and scenes from the bible. The sheer size of the room was mind blowing; it could easily fit a quidditch pitch. For this reason it did not looked or feel crowded even with the amount of Vampires, human blood bags and human servants in the room. Vampires did not like House Elf's and let the really tasty humans live and serve them.

Vampires filled the room with colors and jewels. Dressed in everything from medieval gowns to modern cuts. Beautiful faces from all around the world mostly between the ages of twenty and forty filled the room talking in small groups. Charles recognized more than fifty different languages and had no idea about some.

He saw some vampire kids animatedly talking between themselves to his right, smiling and laughing like any other normal happy teens. Contrary to popular belief, vampires can reproduce between themselves but it's so rare and difficult that the ones that do manage to reproduce are fiercely protective of their children and rarely let them out of their side until adulthood. He took a moment to observe them with unabashed curiosity.

The tallest, a blond male with soft brown eyes and tan skin looked around fifteen. Besides him a petite girl with curly brown hair, peaches and cream complexion and dark mischievous eyes that looked around ten. The last one that Charles could make out from his position looked around fourteen and had undulated soft brown hair and unnatural dark colored eyes. Not because the color, the color was plain dark brown but something about them seemed..._off_. After a few more seconds of careful study he decided that it was because they seemed to reflect more light than normal. After coming down from his curiosity high he noticed with some horror that those eyes he had been studying were studying him in return. He quickly averted his eyes and made a mental note to not go to that side of the room. Teenage Vampires were notorious for their lack of control and high aggressiveness. No matter how 'normal' or how interesting they looked they were a treat to his continual well being and to be avoided at all cost. An adult Vampire of little experience might suck his blood in a particularly nasty way but they usually had enough control to stop before killing the victim. Child or teenaged Vampires had no such control. Experienced Vampires made it so pleasurable and addictive that the victim might prefer to stay as a slave.

Before he had more time to inspect the room from his position near the entrance he was ushered in with the rest. He tried to imitate the relax posture and blank stares of the other sedated children but his muscles refused to relax and his magic was on an all time alert, simmering just under his skin and causing goose bumps to rise in his skin and shivers to run his back.

They were instructed by a human servant to keep out of the way, try to be as unobtrusive as possible, not talk to anyone and follow whoever wanted to feed from them. With some horror he noticed the blank nods of acceptance and the calm manner the group walked and dispersed in the room. His face did not betrayed any of his inner turbulence and he proceeded calmly after them but when they continued walking towards the center of the room he distanced himself and melted in the shadows of the far right side corner of the room were little to no light reached and no vampires or humans were present. Not that the lack of light would bother any of the vampires but hopefully out sight out mind and those who notice would prefer to drink from a conveniently near by body instead of going out of their way to reach him.

As he stood with his blank mask and relaxed pose he noticed the details that had evaded him in his initial inspection. His eye immediately went for the dais at the other end of the room. He counted ten male vampires and two females occupying the high table and with an eager crowd of hopefuls looking to speak or even look at them. It was unnecessary to say that every Vampire in the room was beautiful in their own way and complementary to their place of birth but the ones on the dais were breathtaking, not because of physical beauty, but because the sheer magnitude of their presence made them unavoidable and truthfully, intimidating. There was a hierarchy amongst the vampires, he knew this, but it still caught him off guard the magnitude of how _fucked_ he was and how impossible it will be to get out of here with his heart beating.

Closest to the door he entered were the low ranking vampires and farthest to the wall was what he knew to be the fabled Royal –as the humans would call them- or Elders amongst vampires. Fabled because no wizard has ever either seen them or lived to tell the tale... or knew that for their continued health it was better to not tell the tale. Not even one percent of the vampires have even laid eyes on them. But every one hundred years they come out of wherever they hide and spend a week amongst the noble, important or influential amongst Vampires.

By day they clear political matters, problems or risings and by night they have lavish parties in which they continue another side of the games in politics. Or so he has heard. He has never had any need or interest to learn Vampire politics or customs. They are usually an insular bunch and neither care nor intervene in human affairs unless it influences or benefits them as a whole.

Charles tensed minutely when he felt someone watching him but quickly relaxed and with blank eyes turned slightly to see who was watching him. He immediately found the culprit. Apparently subtle was not in his dictionary. Dark reflective eyes looking directly at him with an intensity he found unsettling. One of the young Vampires he had observed on his arrival. He looked around fourteen with glossy wavy chestnut hair, a tall, slim figure and an aristocratic face was shamelessly staring. Charles distinctly felt like an interesting insect under the tender mercies of a curious child.

Charles decided to move before the boy made his move. So with an expressionless face and relaxed walk he moved along the shadows and in what he hoped looked like an absentminded gesture he let his fingers brush the wall to confirm what he already knew: Antiporkey, Antiapparition wards.

Still, he hoped to find some corner of this castle that permits portkey or apparition for the coming and goings of magical Vampires. He was almost sure that the wards extended for kilometers of land and of course he had no hope of outrunning a Vampire.

He let his hair cover his face and looked for the doors. There were at least twelve side doors that from what he could see. With some careful observation he noticed that ten led to small chambers for either sexual pleasures or private conversation. The two other doors he assumed led out had at least two Vampire guards with mean looking weapons and of course the double door he entered that had the antechamber with two side doors that at least one of them led to the corridor of doors without windows he passed earlier.

He decided to do the only thing he _could_ do, wait for an opportunity to present itself or for the perfect moment to create an opportunity. He reclined slightly against the wall and was silently grateful that he hadn't bothered cutting his hair because right now it was serving to hide most of his face.

The adrenaline was leaving his tense body and the full day was catching up with him. He forced his mind to not contemplate on how tired he was or on how much energy it was taking him to hide his magic. Instead he closed his eyes and morbidly reminded himself that as tempting as it seemed to let go of his magic and fight his way out it will also mean not surviving to see his home again. He had to be smart and bide his time, being rash got him in this situation in the first place.

Magical blood was too tempting, too addicting, and too rare for Vampires. They had laws with the Wizards against actively hunting magicals but little street urchins with no magical family and under the age of eleven had no protection, no papers and no one to miss them so they were fair game. Pureblood Wizards that made the laws turned a blind eye towards this. Better them than their children.

With lazy blank blue eyes he noticed that all of the gold robed children or teens were only for the important Vampires. He started paying more attention to the conversations closest to him and with a start discovered that most were talking about a human. An _invited_ human and of course there was a lot of indignation and curiosity surrounding this mysterious mortal that _dared_ to get invited and actually come

He was interrupted from his eavesdropping when a familiar pair of dark eyes found him again and was looking at him from the other side of the room. With his blank mask, not unlike a person under the Imperio, he continued walking along the shadows of the wall. He walked avoiding large groups or inexperienced Vampires that were obvious in their uncontrolled and unrefined hunger. He lost his stalker in the mass of bodies and some of the tension left his shoulders. He was not confident his mask was strong enough to survive such close scrutiny.

He arrived at the middle of the room and hesitated for a moment.

_Go forward or turn back?_

Persistent eyes' closing in from behind makes the decision for him and he continues his sedated walk towards the front. He always kept to the shadows, dark corners or behind flower arrangements. Surprisingly or maybe not, no one paid him any mind.

He supposed they were used to the humans lurking about with blank eyes and no sense or purpose. It helped that the Vampires around never looked too closely at the humans. The only ones watching the humans were the guards and they were watching specifically the ones that had been hard to control before the potion.

He cannot believe how much it _sucks_ to have someone higher than you in the food chain. He will never see a chicken in the same way ever again. _Maybe I'll become a vegetarian, that is, if I survive being someone else's chicken tonight_ He thought in dark amusement.

A moment later he felt it and he stopped walking abruptly.

_Power. _

So much sweet seductive power it was unbelievable and almost unbearable. He closed his eyes and shivered as he let out a slow, shuddering breath. He immediately opened his blue eyes that were shimmering with suppressed magic and found the source. Pure, raw and exquisitely undiluted magic rolled off the Vampire in sweet seductive waves. Lazily covering all the Vampires in his proximity and drawing them in. It had the feel that it was the magic of a Vampire, that metallic 'taste' characteristic of magic that has been inside a Vampire but only just.

The magic was calm, not spiking or actively trying to intimidate. Calm in the way one is calm in knowledge of ones complete dominance over all present. But lethal. Oh, so lethal.

Up in the dais and center of all attention was the epitome of what it means to be a Vampire. Dark wavy and untamed hair, high cheekbones, intense and intelligent dark eyes, confidence bordering on arrogance, thin lips in a parody of a half-smile and strong nose. He looked out of place in his fine clothing and high back chair; he seemed more suited to be on top of hill made of brutally mutilated corpses or in a vicious battle. This tame, sophisticated and _civilized_ party full of petty battles for standing and politics seemed to be his antithesis.

Charles legs begged, pleaded and goaded him to get closer, to let his magic escape, to let this man control him if he so wishes. The dark magic was whispering sweet nothings to his magical core, trying to bait him into adoring this man and to approach him with his neck bared in submission.

Maybe if the magic that was slowly surrounding him in a mockery of a hug would have asked anything else from him, _anything at all_, but submission he would have yielded. But losing his independence was a fate he considered worse than death or torture. He has lost his independence too many times in the past –or future- at the hands of powerful individuals who wanted to manipulate his life to suit their needs or the needs of the community. Losing control in this life when he knew better was unacceptable and he had to get himself out of here before he was noted and killed.

The magic did not want to let him walk away but if it's something Charles has in spades it is stubbornness. He locked his legs, lowered his eyes, controlled his breathing and cleared his mind from the influence of the intoxicating and addicting magic. With another shuddering breath and goose bumps covering his arms he turned and walked away from his death.

He failed to notice sharp eyes following his retreat with a small wicked smile.

* * *

><p><strong>[Please Review] :)<strong>


	15. Chapter 15: Leviathan

Chapter 15: Leviathan

There are three basic and inescapable instincts for survival: not to be eaten, eat and reproduce. They are the driving force in any species and the very basis for evolution. Those who are stronger, eat you; those who are weaker, you eat. Right now, the instinct of _not being eaten_ was screaming bloody hell inside Charles mind. This situation was not doing anything for his nerves; he twitched every time someone got close to him and breathed a mental sight of relief when they would pass by.

The response of fight or flight is as natural in all beings as it was overpowering. His magic was boiling just underneath his skin and it made him even more agitated. The ingrained instinct to protect himself with magic was strong and to fight it was like fighting the instinct of retracting your hand from a hot surface. Every person on this room was a predator and he was prey. He didn't like the feeling of being a lost little bunny in hyena territory, not one bit.

Charles turned from the biggest predator in the room only to encounter the reason he had fled from the back of the room in the first place. He had to look up to see dark eyes that reflected his own distorted face and smaller frame like a mirror in a fun house. The teen looked at him with an intensity and stillness that was unseen in humans but common in Vampires. He looked almost… _curious_.

Why would a Vampire teen find him _curious_ and not yummy snack? Charles had no idea. This place was full of human children bursting with hot thick blood, why was this one so fixed on him? Was his magic showing… no it wasn't. He distinctly felt the nauseous pressure of too much magic trapped in his body. And what should he do about it?

He settled on putting his most bland, blank face and in the process cleared his mind of all thoughts so that his eyes could reflect the lack of thought common of all the other drugged children walking around. He just stood there and looked dumb while a small part of his mind prayed that the teenaged bloodsucking monster drops his interest and walks away. Alas, it was too much to ask.

A pale hand grabbed his -thankfully covered- shoulder and gently guided him towards one of the ten rooms in the back. Charles dragged his legs and tried to walk as slowly as possible without bringing attention towards it. In the process doing a very good imitation of an Inferi walking towards his death, if such a thing could be possible, but even so they arrived sooner than Charles was confortable.

As they neared the door, the last from the right side of the room on a wall of identical simple wooden doors, a vampire guard, distinguished by his black and red uniform, politely asked if '_Young Master'_ desired anything.

_Young Master? Can't get away with killing him if he's someone important…_

Charles brain seemed to have given up on him –probably deemed him too reckless, stupid and rash to have any use of a brain if he was still going to do whatever the hell he wanted- because he could not think of a way he could get out of this situation that did not involve killing the young vampire, stealing his fancy 'I'm a Vampire' clothes with high neck and tailcoats, hiding his own 'I'm a sack of non-magical blood. Fell free to drink me!' white toga and trying to get out.

The problem with that particular plan was that involved three important details that he wasn't so sure about: (1) that he could kill the vampire; even young vampires were physically stronger than an average human adult male. Discounting the fact that the vampire may have magical abilities or unknown powers that could give an unexpected advantage or complicate the already complicated situation, like making an enemy out of the entire Vampire community. (2) That no one noticed the vampire was dead until he was long gone, (3) that no vampire guard recognize that he was wearing _Young Master's_ clothes and he was in fact _not_ Young Master …or the vampire's friends noticing… or the vampire's parents… or any other vampire that might say '_Hey, he's not a Vampire. Why is he wearing Vampire's clothes? Hmmm that's suspicious'_

'Young Master' asked for a glass of blood and the guard expressed the same confusion Charles felt by looking pointedly at Charles but other than that made no protest, opened the door to the small room and walked away, presumably to find a glass of blood.

The room they entered was small but richly decorated in dark red and black drapes with two luxurious sofas separated by a dark wood low table with oriental designs carved on top. The floor had a dark carpet that Charles had a hard time distinguishing the colour because of the low light. There were no windows and no other doors with the exception of the one they entered, much to Charles dread.

Charles valiantly tried to ignore the smell of sex, blood and cigar in the stuffy air or that the red sofas conveniently matched the color of dried blood and concentrated on looking drugged. His mind felt somewhat numb so it wasn't much of a stretch. The hand that was still on his shoulder guided him to sit on the floor while the vampire sat on the sofa. Charles couldn't help compare his position to that of a dog on the feet of a master and discreetly moved away so he was in a better position to observe the door and farther away from the vampire with the wall to his back.

Once the door closed no sound could be heard from the main room and Charles suspected that it worked both ways, no sound could get out. Charles was hunched, looking at his hands like he has never seen them before, but he could feel the eyes on him. He would be lying if he denied that it didn't unnerve him but he kept the 'Inferi on drugs and with a depression problem' act without missing a beat.

He had long learned that people tended to underestimate those they saw as weak and vampires with their superiority complex were no exception. He had no problem with exploiting their perceive notions to his benefit.

He carefully extended his hand, wanting to touch the wall and see if this room was warded against magical travel. If not he was getting the hell out of here and never looking back. But before his hand could touch the wall another stopped him by grabbing his wrist. As soon as the hand touched the skin of his wrist it drew back as if burned. Charles looked up surprised to actually see burnt marks on the vampire's hand and the vampire looking incredulous at it and at him.

_Serves you right! _He thought with spite.

He supposed that it was his magic's way of protecting him… like the time he killed a possessed DADA teacher in Hogwarts by burning him with his hands. Which was nice and all… if only it would have _actually killed_ the vampire instead of just outing him as a magical and getting him into _more_ trouble.

Any response from the vampire was stopped by a knock on the door and said door opening to reveal the vampire guard with a wine glass full of blood that he put on the table and quickly made his way out without looking at either of them.

Charles did not fail to notice the faint silvery green sparks the blood had when it passed through light but failed to notify his would be murderer the _small_ detail that his drink was poisoned. Unfortunately for him, this was not his night and the Young Monster left the drink untouched on the table. Charles noticed that the vampire's hand had already healed. Bastard.

"Can you understand me?" Young Monster asked first in Latin and then in Russian, French, Spanish, German, Mandarin and finally in English when no response was given. Charles contemplated not answering but decided he could humor the soon-to-be-dead vampire so he nodded.

"Can you think for yourself?" Little Master asked hesitantly, almost _dubiously,_ tilting his head to the side and studying Charles intently. He looked remarkably like a curious bird with his head to the side and his dark reflective eyes shinning with inquisitiveness.

_Well, that's insulting but not particularly surprising_. Charles glared slightly but nodded anyway. Why not satisfy a dying man's curiosity?

"Can you talk?"

"…"

"Talk." He commanded imperiously.

"…"

"I have never talked to a human before…" The vampire said hesitantly with some embarrassment and looked towards the door as if afraid of someone catching him saying that.

"Don't feel bad. I don't usually converse with my chicken either." The words stumbled out of Charles mouth without conscious thought or permission. The almost-but-not-quite-yet-dead vampire smiled, surprised and pleased, and then laughed, _actually laughed!_ The look in his eyes was decidedly triumphant.

Charles was annoyed; the vampire had a nice laugh, neither an evil cackle nor a raspy laugh like death's curtains or like his own weird laugh_. It was a good thing for humanity that he will soon be dead. Not that he was jealous or anything. That would be silly. He was in a life and death situation with no time for such trifles. But still. No one should be allowed to laugh like that._

The vampire held the wine glass delicately in one hand with the tips of his fingers but had yet to taste it. Charles wanted to ask one more question before the vampire died a horrible, morbid and agonizing death of crushed mermaid scale poisoning. Whoever wanted him dead _really_ hated the young vampire.

"What made you seek me?" Charles wanted to know how he had been singled out to prevent it from happening again on his way out. He had been doing a good job of being as noticeable as a lamp or so he thought.

"I could feel your irritation, amusement and curiosity from the other side of the room." The young vampire answered with a slight smile. "I did not know mortals could feel so strongly."

Ah, an Empath.

"Are there… other's like you?" Charles asked in a seemingly casual manner, innocently playing with his fingers.

"Not that I know of." He answered with a frown, a little confused by the strange question. "Why did you not tell anyone you were magical?" The question came a little accusingly but he then tried to save it by adding soothingly "You would have been given the honour of being with the Elders."

"No one asked." Charles answered simply and softly while seething on the inside. _Like he wanted to be mutilated and sucked dry. What an __honour__ indeed._

"You are mad." The vampire stated confused, with another tilt of his head and a small smile but with assessing eyes. He brushed his wavy brown hair out of his eyes and continued studying Charles. Trying to assimilate the dichotomy of what he could _feel_ and what he _saw_. He saw an emotionless slack face with dull eyes and hunched back that screamed weak and doltish… but he could feel the ire, the indignation and the hidden knowledge simmering underneath the mask. He just couldn't follow the logic behind those emotions. Nor could he understand why _it_ had lied about it's magic. The mortal was obviously powerful; it would have been an honour to be chosen for the Elders. And it was also smart; he could feel comprehension when he spoke so maybe it could even be allowed to stay as a permanent servant for the Vampire Council. He doubted _it_ was smart enough to read or do anything of importance but he has never been close enough to a human capable of though or speech and this one was full of surprises. Maybe he would be allowed to keep it as a pet? He had Ana Catalina and Leandro as his age-peers but he only saw them once every few years, it did get lonely. He did kill his last pet… but he was confidant he had more control now.

"Explain why you are mad." Maybe direct commands were easier to follow for the simple-minded creature…

_That I can sympathize with whoever is trying to kill you, poor bloke is just trying to do a favor to the world. Get on with drinking the bloody poison you bloodsucking leech! Can I think? Are you bloody kidding me? Get out of sucking your mother's tit and see the bloody world. _

If he dies at the hand of this bloody ignorant teenager he is going to be pissed!

Unexpectedly the door opened and a beautiful red haired vampire walked in before noticing it was occupied and apologizing profusely in Russian. The teenaged vampire stood up, bowed at the waist and gracefully accepted the apology.

Charles used the vampire's distraction to reach for the wall and touch it with the pads of his fingers. With dismay he noticed that it was even more guarded than inside the main room.

Change of plans then.

The door closed leaving him again alone with a potentially volatile vampire in the silent room that _still_ smelled like sex, blood and cigar. The vampire, that he was privately calling Junior since Young Master was a mouthful, gracefully sat again and continued with the staring. Charles, already getting used to being the vampire's sole focus, ignored the stare in favor of using the moment of silence to plan. Without taking his eyes from the vampire or the door of course… one can never be too sure.

Would a Life Debt work if he had been planning on letting Junior die a horrible death and only decided to save him for selfish reasons? Hmmm…

"What are you thinking about?" The vampire tried again to prod a response from his new toy.

_My sudden sadness at the prospect of you living…_ "Pardon?"

"What…are…you…thinking?" The vampire repeated in the extremely paused way one would use when, for example, talking to partially deaf, brain damaged slug.

Charles did not respond and as he expected the vampire got frustrated with him and went to drink from his glass of tainted blood to fill the silence and calm his frustration.

When the glass was centimeters from the vampire's thin red lips Charles exclaimed, "Stop!"

Surprised at the human's outburst the vampire stopped, "Why?" He questioned

"Your drink is poisoned." Charles said carefully, neutrally.

The vampire looked at Charles for a long moment and then looked at his drink. He sniffed it carefully and held the glass against the light. His expression turned murderous. He got up and made to storm out of the room but Charles stopped him by voicing, "You will repay me this Life Debt by getting me safely out from this castle tonight without permitting anyone –including you- from drinking my blood. _So I will it, so it shall be done_." A vibration in the air was felt and a golden band for a few seconds was seen uniting both their right hands before it dissipated. Charles resisted the temptation to throw a fist in the air in victory. He had manage to gain a Life Debt _and_ made the Life Debt a little more specific than a 'good deed in the future' by using a binding oral contract. Olden Rituals were wonderful in the sense that they didn't need two willing parts…it was also the reason they were considered 'dark'.

"Fine." The vampire spat after he got over his surprise "but if I find out you were responsible for this nothing is going to stop me from killing you tomorrow." He vowed.

"I was not part for the conspiracy that tried to kill you tonight by way of poisoning." Charles stated firmly, knowing the vampire will detect the truthfulness of the statement. "And before tonight I did not know you or wished you any harm." Both statements were completely true, if not missing a few facts. Charles would have gone with fire, not poisoning and before he was single out he had not thought of killing him but no need for him to know that.

The vampire looked him in the eyes for a few seconds, gauging his truthfulness, before he nodded. The trust in the vampire's eyes that he really believed those statements made Charles feel a little guilty about the fact that he _would _have killed him or let him die if it had benefited his plans of escaping.

In one hand was the fact that this kid, vampire or not, was just that, _a kid._ Another fact was that to feed this kid at least a few dozen died each year. Since he couldn't decide which was more morally wrong -and he was wary of the whole 'sacrifice one for the better of hundreds' for obvious personal reasons- in the end they both cancelled each other and the only fact that mattered was escaping.

"Stay here. I have to report this treachery then I'll come back with a portkey that can bypass the wards. Do _not _try to escape on your own. We have very…_unforgiving_…wards for those who try to enter or exit unauthorized."

"Got it." Charles said with a nod, he already suspected as much but was still glad he did not tried to use the portkey that hung on his neck in the form of a key when he was in the antechamber. If only he had employed that sense of cautiousness _earlier _ in the night…

The vampire turned around and walked towards the only door in the room only to stop with his hand on the handle. He looked back and seemed to realize exactly what had happened in last few minutes. For a few seconds he seemed to struggle to find words to his thoughts.

"Why?" He asked finally.

"Why what?" Charles questioned, honestly confused

"Why pretend not to understand? ... Why did you not wish to talk to me? ... Why warn me?"

Was Charles imagination or did he sound miffed? Certainly confused and intrigued with a touch of anger.

Charles shrugged his thin shoulders, when the vampire continued to wait for an answer he replied, "I just wish to go home tonight." The Vampire nodded and with a dramatic swish of cloth exited the room.

Charles sagged in relief when the door closed and shut his eyes dropping to the nearest couch. With one hand he rubbed his closed eyes. _Soon. Soon this nightmare will be over and he'll be in the cottage and his biggest worry will be not fighting with Tom_.

For the first time since getting caught he let the tight hold he had on his magic loosen and a brilliant smile illuminated his face. It felt so _good_. So freeing. He stole a moment to enjoy it before deciding to oust a large part of the magic in his body to be able to have better control hiding the rest. He felt somewhat empty without being able to feel his magic but he'll survive, most wizards don't have enough magic in their body to be able to feel it unless they use a wand and are actively making a spell and they make it by just fine.

Until tonight he hadn't really had to hide his magic or put a stop on how much magic entered his body since his body seemed like it could take the abuse. Sometimes, if he got too greedy, it would hurt as hell for a while, usually until he did enough magic to lower the levels again but other than that he had not suffered any permanent damage. He would be careful from now on, practice passing off as a muggle or as a wizard with low magic for the next time something like this happens or if he meets another person as magically sensible as Tom.

He was beginning to truly relax, he even got used to the smell when the door opened again. A tall and handsome man with blond curly hair that looked to be in his late thirty's entered with a gleeful, if not a touch sadistic, smile. He had light blue eyes but the moment he saw Charles they turned red and his smile widened. He closed the door carefully and put a few spells that Charles recognized were for the purpose of not getting interrupted but could still let Charles out if he tried to open the door.

"Welcome, welcome! I had assumed you'd be dead by now. But it is always a pleasure to talk to you again, old friend." His red eyes seemed to glow with an unnatural shine.

"Hello…_Gellert_… I guess I should call you. How did you find me?" Charles asked, the moment the door had opened he had moved to a corner of the room that would let him fight better or take cover.

"I have to say it was difficult." He commented casually and took a few steps closer to Charles "This mortal has a particularly busy life, what with planning a war and all. There wasn't enough time to search and that little ploy of sending your parents alone did sent me back a few months… But thankfully the mortal found those bodies of the Nazi officers you left behind; very messy, you are losing your touch, my friend. After that it was easy to follow your trail to London. I was planning on a big party with all of our friends on a later date but a little birdy told me you were out tonight and I just couldn't help myself. If I have to suffer the Vampires you might as well suffer with me." The last bit was said with a feral smile. Of course while he had to suffer tedious conversation, he had to suffer lack of blood.

"You…found my parents?" Charles questioned with a tight knot on his stomach and felt vomit rise to his mouth.

"Oh, months ago! They are trying out the new prison this mortal just built. He is really a sadistic bastard. He put a mirror on your mother's prison cell that would lead her directly to your father's cell but in the process take away her greatest personal treasure. In her case it was her beauty, her vanity. She stood crying in front of the mirror for hours after we explained it to her; seeing the hag-like appearance she would gain if she chose to cross over to your father. The mortal, Gellert, decided to put the mirror in her cell since he suspected that your father would not even think about it before running to your mother. No fun in that. But she did cross after all and your father tenderly kissed her. Terribly touching that. I'm always a sap for romance." He said carelessly, still smiling as if he were telling a great story.

After a moment of silence Charles, in an emotionless voice, said, "Informative. And who might this little bird be?" He would deal with the blow of knowing his parents were suffering in jail in privacy. Not right now. Not in front of _him_.

"Ah. Not telling! But I came to talk peacefully and politely so you can let go of the half formed killer beam you have there. I can feel the malice from all over here so it must be nasty. But still not enough to distract me from the one on my back and…. Really the floor? That's low, even for you."

"What can I say? I learned from the best. Still don't forgive you for killing me in my sleep last time." But he did let go of the majority, he was not brain damaged. 'Gellert' was an invited guest while he was a blood bag, attacking him would be suicidal.

"Ouch. I guess I deserve the mistrust but we can only move forwards."

"Unless you turn back time." Charles reasoned

"Well, there's that. But we need not be enemies, my cute little warrior." Charles glared fiercely but did not interrupt; if he was feeling chatty, let him talk. "Have you not had your doubts about the fleshy creatures that inhabit this Universe? Why do they deserve this? This precious gift of matter. What have they done to deserve it? Nothing! And what have they done with it? They have and will destroy everything, with no consideration or gratitude to what was freely given to them. You had your chance, why not give us our chance?"

"It's really nothing personal, just survival. Between you and me, I choose me. " Charles answered sincerely, because apart from the little itty bitty detail of them trying to rob all matter from this universe to form their own universe he really had no problem with them.

They were smart, rational beings that made valid points on the ungratefulness of humans. He could be on friendly terms with them and bitch about humans over a cup of tea... if he wasn't one. But since he _was _one and all the people that matter to him are/were/will be humans it change things and no matter how pretty they put it, the point still was that they wanted to destroy his home.

"You chose the one's that have betrayed you? The ones that have made you suffer? ...We could give you all that you desire. You could have an honour place in our society as the hero who made it all possible. This Universe has brought you nothing but pain. Come with us. We could stop all of the pain and suffering. This people are not worth your trouble. While a few die out of too much food, the rest die out of hunger. For a few to prosper and have their commodities a hundred thousand have to be enslaved. They kill their brother and enemy alike. They know no bounds, no control, and no honour. They destroy the tree that feeds them and then moan about the lack of food. They use stupid little tales about people in the upper atmosphere to justify senseless slather, torture and discrimination."

Charles watched the man's passion in silence and responded, "Yes, I admit I am sometimes ashamed to call myself a human. As a species we fail... but really if we must be truthful and you promise not to repeat it to another human being. The simple truth is... that I don't fight for them. I don't fight for the billions of nameless faces, I fight for the few hundred that I know or will know. I fight for their future and I fight for a future _worth_ fighting for. And even if you kill each and every one of them to leave me nothing to fight for, it would only make me fight harder in their stead. It would only leave me more determined to do what they can't. Because I see hope in them, hope that we are worth this life, worth a chance, that we can change for the better and as long as I believe that I will continue to fight."

"But aren't you tired of fighting?" He cajoled, changing strategies "You are always born to suffer and fight. Aren't you tired of living? Of suffering? We could give you the freedom you seek. No more hard living, no more pain, no more loneliness, no more confusion. And we give you our promise that no one would be in pain anymore, no one will have to suffer...you could protect them all. Protect them from themselves."

Charles laughed bitterly "Yes. I get tired. Sick and tired, really. It touches me that you know me so well." His face turned serious but black humor still lingered in his eyes as he locked directly at the red eyes in front of him "But there's a reason you want this... That you want what we have. To be able to _live_... as you know very well, it's worth fighting for."

The handsome face of Gellert Grindelwald turned murderous "You will lose this. You are one. We are many. You are blind. We see everything. You just started. We have been waiting for this since the Beginning. You have no chance in winning this."

"Never underestimate a lucky shot." Charles responded with a smile.

"Give up now and live... Why fight a losing battle, little warrior?" The last question was asked in true curiosity. He really didn't understand the point in fighting a losing battle.

"I don't appreciate the highly condescending nickname. Let's keep it polite shall we?"

"Of course, but you have not answered. Are you evading the question?"

"I recently have come to know a very important fact about myself and it has only taken me a few lifetimes for me to figure it out. It doesn't _really_ matter if I have an ice cube's chance in hell at succeeding, I will still do it. _Even knowing_ it's a losing battle, a lost cause, and completely stupid and brainless to continue, I will still continue. I'm just stupid like that." He shrugged "Does that makes sense to you?"

"No. It really doesn't." Of course not. He was no more alive than a ghost and not even that because at least a ghost remembers emotions and what it felt to be alive. They on the other hand have never been and would never be unless they can procure matter to create a physical Universe and not just the phantasm universe they currently have.

"I guess it's the sort of thing you have to _experience_ to know it, no?" Charles spat with no little viciousness

"Were we not keeping it polite?"

"Yes, so ever sorry about taking a jab at your inability to live or experience anything. It was tactless and rude."

"Enough talking. You have made your choice. So be it."

"It was never a choice." Charles murmured after the man left. They couldn't fight here, on Vampire territory, in a castle full of Vampires; both would end up dead one way or another and it seemed that he still had plans for his puppet and did not want him killed yet.

But once they were outside, it was open season.

* * *

><p>Charles waited in the same room for half an hour until finally, the teenaged vampire had entered again and beckoned him to follow with a simple, "You have to come with me."<p>

"Why?" Charles questioned without moving an inch.

The vampire grimaced and responded with "The Elder's wish to speak with you."

"Why?"

"Is not your place to question them" The vampire responded with a stone hard face and an icy tone of voice.

"What did you tell them?" Charles continued as if not hearing the warning.

"It also not your place to question me." He bit out even more harshly

Charles had just found out his parents were in prison being mentally tortured and physically mutilated, the hell he was going to deal with this bloodsucker's need to feel superior. He glared and in his most authoritative voice, commanded, "Tell me."

They had a small starring match in which the Vampire relented at the intimidating stare of the small boy with black hair, striking unnatural blue eyes and a straight back. Where did the hunched back anxious little boy went?

"I told them the truth. Now come." The vampire finally answered and opened the door for the boy to pass. He had hardly noticed the boy's appearance, one human was basically the same as the next one, but now he was wondering _how_ he did not notice; It seems he had been too fascinated with the inner workings of the boy to notice the rest. But now as he lead the way to the private wing of the Elders in Vast castle he could catch details he had missed when watching him from across the room and he was surprised with what he found. It was all an act.

The submissive posture, the low cast eyes, the dragging feet it all combined to make him unnoticeable. They would pass other vampires on the way and they would barely even look at the magically powerful boy and if they did they immediately deemed him unworthy of their attention. And he now understood more of why so much emotion came from such a seemingly spineless creature. He wasn't so sure if he should be mad that for all of his Empath powers he was still fooled or amused and impressed. It probably worked because he would have never expected the blood bag to have any kind of intelligence much less be capable of this grand-scale deceit. Yes, maybe he thought it could understand simple things and maybe even talk but this… no he never expected this.

They have arrived at their destination. A simple, innocent wooden door with a gold handle that would determine the boy's fate and in consequence his, since they were bound by a Life Debt. Keeping one human alive and without bite marks until the end of the night, it shouldn't be too difficult right?

"Enter Leviathan." A booming voice ordered as the door magically opened to reveal a…study? Charles, not for the first time in the night, was disappointed. Why can't Vampire's be more vampire-y and stick with well-known clichés? Maybe they haven't read the books, Charles reasoned. And maybe he was losing his mind. First the laugh and now this?

The room had rich, dark cherry wood floors, leather armchairs and walls covered with books and the random odd trinket. It smelled like parchment and ink with a touch of old book. The room was big enough so that the twenty people present did not feel unconformable. Charles eyes immediately zoomed in at the end of the room were the powerful vampire from before was casually leaning against the richly carved desk. His dark eyes also met Charles for a second before asking quietly, "Leviathan, is this the human that identified the poison when you were too incompetent to do it yourself?"

All eyes went to Leviathan, including the three vampires kneeling on the floor with pained faces but appearing unbound and unhurt. He recognized the guard that gave Leviathan the drink, the redheaded woman that entered the room, but the last he had not seen before, a gray haired grandfatherly looking vampire.

"Yes, Elder Seraphim. This is the human."

With the exception of a few vampires on the room the rest looked at Leviathan with poorly veiled contempt.

"Human how did you notice the poison when one of ours did not?" Seraphim questioned.

A sudden hush fell on the room, it seemed that asking a human or maybe even talking to a human as if was a thinking being, was unorthodox. Charles felt the tendrils of the vampire's magic begin to wrap around his ankles but ignored it in favor of answering. He could not lie, not when every being in this room could hear the beat of his heart or any sudden hitch in his breathing.

"I noticed the silvery green sparks on the blood." Charles answered calmly, simply.

His awareness was trapped deep inside his mind, as he needed to carefully control every single thing in his body to be able to survive the night. Everything from his heartbeat, breath, facial expressions, emotions and his tone of voice had to be carefully controlled. If he ever survives this, and decides that he needs a team of elite soldiers, this will be part of the training.

The vampires in the room seemed surprised. Charles could not tell if it was because they were surprised that he _could_ answer, like Leviathan had been, or if it was because he had _dared_ to answer at all. The man was like the God or King of the Vampires after all.

"And you asked a Life Debt which you combined with a dark ritual that would ensure your safe passage out of my home, is this not correct?" Seraphim asked with a dark undertone that made the occupants of room shiver and take a step back.

"It is." Charles answered again calmly, not reacting at all.

"I am feeling particularly lenient towards you child. If you manage to kill these three traitors I will grant you safe passage out of my home. If you don't, you will die. Which will lead to Leviathan death. This is my gift to you for saving one of our own and my punishment for Leviathan for being so careless."

After hearing this the wail of a woman could be heard and the sobbing of a man, Charles assumed they were the parents of Leviathan. Leviathan himself looked pale and it was obvious who was a friend of the family and who was not. A small crowd formed around the couple, looking sad and depressed as if Leviathan was already dead and buried. The majority looked victorious and a couple making bets about how long the human will last or who would kill him. The highest time being at an optimistic 7 seconds.

Charles looked back at the dark eyes of Seraphim and nodded.

"I had a feeling you would agree."

* * *

><p>Charles arrived on a dark street corner in a God forsaken part of London via portkey. He immediately activated his portkey home and appeared a few paces away from the house. From the windows in the front of the cottage he knew that everyone was sleeping and it was no surprise, since the sun will rise in less than an hour. He walked barefoot inside since his boots and clothes had been taken away early in the night and threw his blood soaked white toga in the fire along with the portkey he had been given by the Seraphim and went upstairs to collapse on his bed, too tired to think about showering.<p>

"You smell funny."

Charles would have jumped in fright since the voice was coming from his bed but he was too tired to make more than a twitch. His nerves were not just battered, they were burned to a crisp.

"Yeah? Had a long night." Charles responded tiredly and almost wanted to kill himself at the thought that he had to get up and work in an hour.

"I'm sorry." Tom murmured close by his ear. "I didn't mean it, any of it."

"I know you didn't. Don't think about it." Charles slurred since _he_ didn't have the strength to think about it.

"It's only that you are my only friend. Why can I be your only friend?"

"…"

"Charles?" Tom put his hand to support his head and looked at the sleeping face of his best friend. "Where were you tonight?" He whispered, not expecting a response from the sleeping boy.

0oo0

Late morning Tom found Charles in the kitchen, looking out of a window with a steaming mug of tea in his hands. Tom couldn't help but notice how…_lost_… he looked.

* * *

><p><em>So... Review... please? I always read and take in account your suggestions and that's the fun part about reading an in-progress story no? getting to have a say on things, helping the author overcome her many faults, point out holes or inconsistencies in the story... just say hi! or if you are feeling lazy, smily faces always are an option :) :( :s :- :| :p :O_

_I'm shallow enough to like quantity just as much as quality _


	16. Chapter 16: Series of Unfortunate Events

Chapter 16: A Series of Unfortunate Events

"Enter Leviathan." A booming voice ordered as the door magically opened. Leviathan and the human were ushered in to _Seraphim's personal study_ in Vast Castle. Leviathan couldn't help the dread that seeped into his bones. _Seraphim! Why are we meeting Seraphim for a simple assassination attempt?_

Two Vampire Guards positioned themselves at either side of the human. Not that the human seemed to notice, his whole attention was centred on Elder Seraphim, Leviathan observed. The human wasn't the only one, the moment the doors closed every eye turned as one to the back of the room.

Seraphim is, and has always been, as alluring as he was lethal. He easily, effortlessly, commanded all the attention in the room. Even a muggle would have been able to feel the power oozing out of the immortal. He casually leaned against the front of his antique cherry wood desk and silently observed.

To Leviathan's utter mortification the whole court was present, the twelve Elders, his parents, Ana Catalina's parents and Leandro's parents. There had already been an hour-long reunion in which Leviathan had explained, in detail, what had happened to the head guards and his parents. In short order the suspects had been captured and interrogated. Impressive, but not surprising if one considers the high security implemented for such an important event and who exactly was targeted. He had thought that will be end of it. But then Seraphim had been informed and for some unknown reason he took an interest and now Leviathan was not sure if he will be allowed to leave with his life tonight.

Leviathan had been told that it was the joint work of three vampires; a beautiful red head, heiress of a prominent Russian coven, her lover, a young non-magical vampire, posing as the guard that had given Leviathan the poisoned blood and an elderly looking Russian guard that had helped them enter the exclusive event and smuggle the poison. At the moment the three were on their knees at the center of the room awaiting their fate. The whole court surrounded them, present to witness their humiliating position and their failed plans. They were unbound; there was no need to bind them to keep them there. They will not be moving until Seraphim said so.

Earlier, after a moment under the sadistic malevolence of Seraphim, the three had freely admitted to trying to kill the next in line for Elder ascension. The details Leviathan had not been privy to; not that he cared too much. Assassination attempts were nothing new to him and after a while the reasons stop mattering.

The difference this time was that if not for a _human_ he would have been dead. And not even a human servant or a human pet, a _blood bag human_. He was sure he'll never live down the dishonor. He had been trained by the best Masters, attended to the best schools the Realm had to offer and was next in line for Elder. He should not have needed help. End of story. Much less the help of something that was not even considered a 'he' but an 'it'.

"Leviathan, is this the human that identified the poison when you were too incompetent to do it yourself?" Elder Seraphim asked him in a mocking voice. He, of course, already knew the answer but wanted to prolong Leviathan's humiliation. Leviathan felt his shame double at the contempt he could feel from all the Vampires present.

Detecting emotions from Vampires has always been difficult; it always has a muted quality, like a whisper in a loud room or a distant echo in the back of his mind. But now, more than ever, he wished he could be oblivious to it all.

"Yes, Elder Seraphim. This is the human." _How humiliating, the first time Elder Seraphim talks to me is because I needed a human to save me. _

He had imagine the first time that Elder Seraphim looked at him and talked to him in his deep rich velvety voice to be a glorious moment; His ascension to Elder, being recognized for being the exceptional creature he was or something along those lines. Not this. Never this. It was like his worst nightmare that ate a boggart and then sucked the soul of a dementor.

"Human how did you notice the poison when one of ours did not?" Seraphim questioned, looking directly at the human. Leviathan, and the rest of the room stood in shock, holding their breath. _Seraphim talking to a human? Impossible. _

"I noticed the silvery green sparks on the blood." The human answered calmly in his child-like soft voice but with enough respect and submissiveness to not guarantee his immediate death.

He did not understood this strange calmness –no sane person would be this calm when speaking to Seraphim- so Leviathan concentrated on the human's feelings. When before the human had been a blazing flame in a dark room, now he was almost as unnoticeable as the vampire's that surrounded him.

_Emotionally detaching himself from the situation_, his mind supplied him as an explication, _a common survival tactic for stressful situations_.

"And you asked a Life Debt which you combined with a powerful dark binding ritual that would ensure your safe passage out of my home, is this not correct?" Seraphim asked with a dark undertone that made the occupants of room shiver and take a step back in fear.

"It is." The human answered again calmly, not reacting at all.

"I am feeling particularly lenient towards you child. If you manage to kill these three traitors," He pointed at the floor were the three vampires responsible kneeled submissively "I will grant you safe passage out of my home. If you don't, you will die. Which will lead to Leviathan death. This is my gift to you for saving one of our own and my punishment for Leviathan for being so careless."

Leviathan felt like could not move or breathe. He heard his mother's wail and his father's heart-wrenching sobs but he could not find the strength to look at them. He, instead, looked at the human, '_Does he have a name?_' a silent conversation seemed to pass between Seraphim and the human. The human nodded. A slow wicked smile appeared in Seraphim's thin lips.

"I had a feeling you would agree." The voice carried over the noise in the room easily and Leviathan couldn't help but be terrified at the dark tone. _Why is Seraphim doing this? _

* * *

><p>Leviathan kept watching the human even as they walked outside. He had nothing else to do and thinking about his imminent death was not pleasing. It was down right depressing, actually. The human still walked with his back hunched to the point were it made him seem half his stature; his dark hair covered in shadows his face making it hard to discern his facial features. His magic was hidden so deep inside him that if not for his personal knowledge, Leviathan would have thought him either a muggle or a squib.<p>

It all combined to make him seem small and fragile, but Leviathan wouldn't let that fool him again. His hand still burned with remembered pain. This human was powerful… and dangerous. He was like the poison that almost killed him tonight. Deadly, but passed unnoticed unless you knew what to look for.

The human was lost in thought. He could feel it. Not the thoughts themselves, but the maelstrom of emotions that each thought brought. He felt him discarding plans every few seconds and comparing strategies. It gave him slight hope that the human was not consumed in fear and hopelessness. Sure, there was trepidation and caution, but not panic.

The steps of the group were the only sound in the long hallways and descending stairs. It sounded like a drum roll as everyone unconsciously marched at Seraphim's beat. Broken only occasionally when money was passed for a bet or whispers about how this will affect their dealings with the Russian coven.

The excitement in the air from the other vampires made him want to vomit. He had separated from his parents because their anguish was just as bad as the others excitement. He felt irrational anger at the thought that they will forget him, eventually, and be happy again with another son or daughter. He was not the first son they had lost in an assentation attempt after all and they had found happiness with him.

Once outside, fresh night air greeted them. Cool and humid with more stars than blackness. No one lighted oil lamps or wands, they all saw perfectly well and no one spared a thought for the human; not even Leviathan, who walked besides the human. He had continued walking besides the human because he was ironically calmer than the rest and if he was going to die tonight he wanted to at least feel calm one last time.

Leviathan felt the equivalent of a hammer of questioning feelings from the human, it almost made him trip with its strength. He glared at the human for the headache he caused. The human ignored his –in his own opinion- rather intimidating look and looked pointedly at the three vampires. They were far enough from the other vampires for them to take notice at how their meek human had stopped acting meek and a few were talking loudly enough to cover the noise, so Leviathan risked it.

"The older vampire and the woman can do magic but their wands have been snapped. I imagine that the young man might be physically stronger to compensate his lack of magic. The young man and the woman are romantically involved…" Leviathan furred his brow but could not think of anything else that might be useful "I know nothing else." This was all said in a soft voice close to the human's ear.

The human nodded slightly, the movement could have been confused with the normal movement of the head when walking, and nothing else betrayed the fact that he heard or understood what he had been told.

After the long walk, they arrived at the Gladiator's pit situated in the land that surrounded the castle. It was quite common for wealthy vampires to own one their own but most still preferred to attend to the public ones. It was usually used for entertainment or political purposes even to this day. The vampires were a bloodthirsty lot and greatly enjoyed any opportunity to watch a massacre, especially now on this 'civilized' times. Other magical beings usually added their numbers to the public arenas and it greatly helped keep the peace and open communication between the usually hostile and different Dark communities. It served as a place to meet others, a marketplace, a place to share information, talk politics, place bets or solve petty conflicts. It worked out great to all parties involved, if one does not count the prisoners or slaves, which they didn't.

This one has not been used since Seraphim moved to Vast Castle. Some whispered that Seraphim didn't like the controlled, 'safe', environment and preferred less _tame_ methods to kill, torture and punish his slaves and prisoners.

What was called a Gladiator pit, in this case, was nothing more than a fenced patch of dried grounds with hidden traps and a wall of weapons for those fighting to use. If the murmurs of other vampires were to be believed, it was unsure if the traps still worked or if the weapons were sharp since it hasn't been used in a long time. It looked more like a primitive cage full of torture devices than the embellished duelling rooms and bejewelled swords Leviathan was used to. He was not comforted with the fact that every weapon hanging along the wooden walls of the pit was at the perfect height to be grabbed by a grown man… and his only chance of survival didn't reach four feet.

_Oh, he was so dead. A dead virgin at that. So sad. _

'_I am too perfect to die'_, was the second prominent thought in his mind. Followed closely by, '_All of the glorious accomplishments that I would have done are now lost to the world'._ And a variant of both, '_What a tragic death! Young, beautiful and wickedly smart with everything ahead …' _

Stupid things that he didn't do seemed important now. '_I should have kissed Leandro; Told Ana Catalina that she was a bitch and that he only kept her around because he enjoyed her snark when it was directed at someone else. _And, _who will feed my turtle?'_

A few curious added their number to the group but it was overall a small gathering. Three vampires' -two of them magical- against one magic-less human child was not exciting and the outcome was so expected that he figured that not many would bother to even watch. It seemed that no one paid attention when Seraphim commented about the human doing a ritual. They only saw the white toga on the hunched back human and assumed he had no magic. Or maybe they thought that because they couln't feel it, it must mean he is almost a squib.

If it had been anyone else but Seraphim who gave the order, the Elders would have laughed and just kill the five of them and save themselves the trouble of going outside. _It had been a long walk… _

His inner musings were cut short when the group stopped in front of the entrance to the pit. With the exception of his parents, Seraphim, the three accused vampires and the human, the rest went to find a sit on the benches that surrounded the pit. That is, until Seraphim commanded in a harsh tone for his parents to go sit, sneering at their snivelling. Leviathan made to follow them but Seraphim stopped him with a look and pointed to a spot on the floor.

Humiliated, Leviathan walked to the spot and sat on the ground. From his position on the ground he watched as Seraphim looked at the human. Any Elder would have been intimidated, any vampire cowed and depending on the human they would have been scared shitless or glaring, trying to prove their worth and unconsciously trying to impress. But not this human.

The human just blinked stupidly. No recognition of danger or intelligence flashed in those empty eyes. There was no glaring, no hidden challenge, and no false courage. Leviathan almost expected the human to start drooling at any moment.

Finally, with distaste, Seraphim turned his back and walked towards an elevated platform that gave clear view of the entire pit. It seemed he had not found what he had been looking in the boy. But he did not leave before the four were inside the pit with the doors closed and their fate sealed.

Leviathan stayed on the floor, not daring to move an inch, obsessively watching 'his' human from his spot. He had a clear view of the pit and of the audience, which he tried to avoid. His parents' sad looks at his humiliating position on the floor were almost as bad as the vicious smiles. The thought about how he was ruining his favourite dark blue formal dress jacket was probably inappropriate given the circumstance but nevertheless the thought was there.

The human stood in the centre of the pit, barefoot with the white toga and he had taken no weapons. The vampires had surrounded him, all with weapons and hungry looks. Last meal before death and they all wanted a piece. Leviathan frowned…something was not right. The human had his concentration inwards and was not reacting to the vampires' slow approach… Slow approach…

Leviathan put his palm on the ground and concentrated. After a moment his eyes opened in startled realization. The human was directing his considerable amounts of magic to the earth, casting an underground net. Leviathan could tell that the three vampires could not detect the magic that was running underground but, like him, they could tell something was not right. Their survival instincts warned them of danger even if their conscious mind denied it.

He felt it because his uncovered skin touched the ground and the human could control the flow of magic because he was barefoot but the others were unaware of what was happening. The magic was too deep under the earth for them to be able to detect it.

But Leviathan was having a hard time understanding it. Why? Why go through all the trouble to conceal it? With the amount of magic and concentration he was wasting by doing this he could have done something else, something direct and devastating.

Leviathan looked at the spectators. The crowd muttered restlessly. They did not understand why this wasn't over yet. The unassuming act of the human had worked better than Leviathan had imagined possible. It had made them forget that this human had cast a powerful dark binding ritual just a few hours ago. Even Seraphim seemed to be waiting the inevitable death of the human. But unlike the others, Seraphim seemed to think that the human would at least put up a fight.

When Leviathan looked back at the fight not much had changed, except that the three had taken a triangular position around the boy and had stopped walking. He touched the floor and found out why. The underground magical net had put strong compulsions in the vampires for them to stay there. The human had them right where he wanted them.

His probe on the net did not go unnoticed and for less than a second he was in the receiving end of an intimidating glare with a malevolence that rivalled with Seraphims' and hit by the metaphorical brick to the head with the distinct feeling of '_Back the hell away'_. Until now, he had been pretty sure that that couldn't be portrayed as a feeling but he had been shown the light.

This insignificant human had adapted like fish to water to his revelation of being an Empath. While his friends had hidden their emotions from him, this little boy had found a way to use it to his benefit. Be that as a form of communication or punishment and warning as needed.

Like a rubber band snapping, it all happened at once and almost simultaneously. Surprisingly, cautiousness won over hunger and the attack started from a distance. The old man hurled with supernatural strength his medieval battle-axe with the grace of someone used to handle such weapon and the confidence of one who knows that it will reach its' target. No one noticed, not even the old man, the slight, almost unnoticeable change of angle his hand had taken at the last moment but they all saw the effects.

The human, with wide scared eyes, had only a second to crunch low leaving the axe to sail past undeterred, decapitating the young male vampire that had not expect it since he had not been directly behind the human or in the path of the weapon. Blood covered the human but it wasn't his blood. The veteran Russian guard stared; surprised at both missing his target and the impossible route his weapon took.

The woman gave an infernal screech and threw herself at the shocked old man. With a wandless push the old man managed send the woman soring in the air and almost destroying the far wall she hit. The old man summoned a sword from the wall and waited for the woman to attack again. Like an avenging devil the woman came and savagely attacked with a long sword and a dagger. She seemed incapable of wandless magic and neither did she seem to have any practice with the weapons in her hand but she made it up with sheer viciousness. They seemed to have forgotten about the little human that was folded in a ball, far away from the fight.

But Leviathan had not forgotten. When he pressed his palm to the floor he understood the madness he was seeing. The human, using the net, was feeding anger to the female vampire. Driving her mad with grief and an irrational need to avenge her fallen lover. It was a subtle but persistent push on the already present feelings.

With a final fatal blow, the woman finally died at the expert hands of the ex-Russian Guard. The severed head of the vampire rolled close to the child and he emitted a scared panicked whimper that attracted the attention of the veteran and the crowd that had forgotten of the human.

With slow sure steps the vampire made his way to his prize. The human started sobbing even louder and dragging himself back, seemingly unable to get up and run. The whole audience could hear his soft pleads and see the tear streaked face.

Only Leviathan was conscious that this was all an act. A distraction. Halfway there a soft 'click' was heard and this time all the vampires felt the shift in magic. All directed to a single point, right underneath the vampire's feet. No one believed that the magic was coming from either human or vampire since the magic seemed to be coming from the earth up. So the logical conclusion was that one of the traps had been activated.

Everyone stood up as one, even Seraphim, to watch. Leviathan had only a second to comprehend what was happening before running from his position on the ground to higher land before all hell broke loose.

The ground started moving like a giant tidal wave, shifting and breaking the compressed soil. Hands started appearing from the cracks. Mutilated, bony and in different stages of decomposing, some blue-black with worms, others fleshy and cream coloured. At first only a few pocked out from the already soft ground but very quickly hundreds and they all seemed only interested in the vampire.

One of them managed to trip the running vampire and slowly but surely hands and then arms started to pin him down. He fought like a caged animal, cried and screamed, but for every hand he severed five would take their place. Heads and torsos were now coming out, biting with the ferocity of starved wolves, a hole that had been forming was finally big enough to fit the vampire. First his feet went down the hole. He started creating fires using wandless magic trying to burn enough so he could escape. When he tired of using magic, he continued frantically punching and tearing heads.

Slowly but surely he was dragged down, his torso and head were only visible now. His arms had so many holes that the pearly white of bone could clearly be seen from afar. His screams were now desperate, pleading and full of unimaginable pain.

After his head went underground, magic covered the hole and the terrain went back to appearing normal. But still, his faint screams could be heard until after five minutes they abruptly stopped.

Shocked silence followed. Everyone continued looking at the normal, innocent looking, terrain even when it became apparent that nothing more would occur. Seraphim's chuckles broke the silence and like a waterfall everyone started talking at the same time in excited whispers and moving out.

Except for Leviathan, everyone forgot about the human. Truth be told, Leviathan was terrified of the human. He had never felt so scared of someone in his life. He felt his parents come to him, they said something Leviathan had not been able to process and then they had left him alone. Not that Leviathan noticed.

The human had done it. He had truly done it. He had tricked everyone, including Seraphim, into thinking him harmless, uninteresting and definitely not a threat. Everyone had seen it, yet no one had any clue of what they had seemed. Three vampires (three!) had died under unfortunate, accidental and mysterious circumstances after entering the pit with the human and no one blamed the human.

The human got up and Leviathan tensed. He was covered with blood and dirt but otherwise looked unharmed. Not even a scratch and no one found this odd.

The boy walked towards him, the only one who stayed behind, and Leviathan started walking back. The human's feelings were non-hostile but he wasn't taking any chances. When the human noticed his retreating steps he stopped walking and Leviathan stopped backing away. Until he remembered that this human did not need to be close to kill him and continued backing away. He didn't want to turn and risk giving his back to the human.

"Stop," The human whispered, apparently knowing that he will be heard. "I will not hurt you if you don't hurt me."

When Leviathan kept backing away he pleaded again, "Please, the portkey. I want to go home."

He was surprised to find that the human was not untouched by the macabre scene they had just witnessed. His feelings were of horror, shock and sorrow. The human had not wanted to be a part of that just as much as he hadn't wanted to witness it.

Leviathan tried to think things logically, the human had only killed the three that had tried to kill him and only because he had been commanded, not because of some sort of sick twisted enjoyment.

"What's your name?" Leviathan asked, still a distance away.

"Charles, Charles Winter." The boy responded.

"I am Leviathan."

"Is nice to meet you Leviathan." This politeness seemed so out of place when the boy was dripping blood from three different vampires.

"Likewise." He smiled a little at the absurdness of the conversation.

He let the human catch up with him without only minimal panic.

"You could make a great spy." He added and they started walking together but with a metre of distance between them. His thirteen-year old mind unwilling to keep the seriousness much longer and needing something to distract himself form mutilated hands and screams.

The boy, Charles, scrunched up his pretty, little, blood-covered face and responded "Too much trouble. I only wish to be left alone."

"Why did you go to so much trouble to hide yourself? The vampires would have been impressed by your skills." This had troubled Leviathan. Why not show off? He definably would have showed off if he had that much power.

"They would have felt threatened and would have wanted to control me." The boy, Charles, said hesitantly. As if not sure if it was wise to say this to another vampire.

Leviathan thought about tonight's assassination attempt and had to agree.

"True. The vampires wouldn't have embraced a human as powerful as you without first making sure you would not be a threat to them and if they failed at neutralizing you they would have tried to off you."

"I have enough enemies to last me a few lifetimes and then some. No need to add the vampires to that."

"How old are you?"

"Almost eight." Charles responded a little defensively as if daring Leviathan to say something about it.

"I'm fourteen." He said smugly, even if it was unimportant he felt a little better at being the older one.

Uncomfortable silence descended after this or at least for Leviathan it felt uncomfortable. The human –Charles!- looked too tense and tired to notice. He was walking with a hunch that seemed more out of tiredness than pretend. And he _felt_ tired to Leviathan. Mentally, physically and magically exhausted.

"Come, I have to find you a portkey before the night is out." Leviathan said unnecessarily since they had been walking on their way to find a portkey for the last five minutes.

The boy nodded and continued to drag his feet along the uneven terrain and up to the castle doors.

"Do you need help walking?" Leviathan offered. Still scared of the boy but willing to help the person that had saved his life twice today.

"No." Was the terse reply.

Leviathan made a try at lighting the mood, the had never dealt well with serious situations, "After all this adventure, you are not going to trust me?"

"Not at all." The answer was not surprising but the fact that it was instantaneous was frankly offensive.

"When are you going to trust me?" He tried instead. The human gave him a funny look for persisting with this obviously failed try at conversation but answered nonetheless,

"When you swear on your life and magic to never drink my blood or try to control me."

"But… but…What if we are fighting… side to side, back to back… and I get mortally wounded and only sip of your blood, a nibble on your neck, is needed for me to live?"

Charles privately thought that the vampire had a tendency to romanticise situations, "Well then, I fully expect you to die."

Leviathan made a horror stricken face, which was not faked and whispered, "You are foul." And then his voice changed, "I change my mind. I don't want your blood. It's probably as bitter as your soul."

"Perhaps." Charles mused with a half smile, unable to hide his amusement.

The conversation ended there and neither tried to break the silence again. Shortly after, Charles was given a portkey and without even looking back he disappeared.

* * *

><p><strong>Things you will otherwise never know about Leviathan:<strong>

-He has a very active life. He has to learn politics, magic and physical training. His parents expect a lot from him and training to be an Elder is a privilege but also a burden.

-His only friends are Ana Catalina and Leandro (that he has a crush on). Until very recently he has had very little contact with people his own age, be them vampires or other magical creatures. But that will change soon enough.

-Vampires tend to drug humans to neutralize them. So his perception of humans is based on that. But he had fantasized about rebelling -like all teens- and finding a friend in a human close to his age that he can have grand adventures. That's why he was exited about finding Charles (a thinking, talking human!).

-He wont have the time or knowledge to seek out Charles but don't worry they will meet again in the future.

-He had wished more times than he can count that 1. he would wake up one day and not be gay (it can get him killed in the unforgiving vampire society), 2. he losses the power to feel others emotions, 3. that he really is as great as he imagines himself to be and make his parents proud.

[It is not that there is no homosexuality in the vampire world, is just that is not accepted but if you know the right vampires, all sorts of doors are opened. And if your powerful enough you can choose to bear the brunt of the others.]

-he keeps his pet turtle Sally inside an unused bathroom because no one knows he has it and he considers it his best friend. (Since it doesn't judge him for liking boys)

-he has very few times where he can act silly, his responsibilities demand his constant attention. It doesn't mean he is very good dealing with stress. Much to his parents distress he tends to laugh and make jokes when under too much pressure or in a serious situation (like a funeral).

-For all his knowledge and education he is pretty ignorant of how the world works and tends to think life is like the books, full of adventure and intrigue. Of course, life will change him. But right now he is still child-like.

**Moonstone blaze: Gellert was the first Dark Lord in the HP world. He was defeated by Dumble. In this story he is also possessed -hence the red eyes. You can look him up in the Harry Potter lexicon. Thank you for your idea of putting it from Leviathan's pt of view, as you see I took it seriously.**

**And thank you all that helped me with my grammar, it's really appreciated because I sometimes don't notice I'm doing something wrong. And a lot of you gave me awesome ideas that I may use them. I will write it at the top of bottom if the idea came from you. **

****So almost there, help me reach 200 reviews? :)****


	17. Chapter 17: Point of no return

Chapter 17:The point of no return

The sun had already fallen when Charles watched in amusement how his owl, Rabbit, angrily chased after a Gringotts owl.

"Jealous? My, my, how the mighty have fallen." He teased as he opened his latest bank statement. He hummed in pleasure at seeing his investments blossom and quickly wrote a few pages worth of parchment detailing further instructions on what he wanted for his goblin manager. He briefly wondered about their work schedule because 'his' goblin always seemed to mail him at night, but it was only a cursory thought. He had better things to worry about than overworked and unappreciated goblin workfare.

He threw one last amused smile at his wayward owl before heading to bed. They had a complicated and passionate relationship that not many understood. Not even them.

It had only been a day after what he was now mentally calling 'the vampire incident' and the only truly magical thing was that he was still standing and relatively sane. He had only slept an hour after coming back from his spontaneous rendezvous with the vampires before having to go to the Malfoy's and torture them into shape with a strict regimen of physical and mental exercises. They had not been pleased with his short temper but had made more progress in a single day than in the past day. It had been quickly established that whining to a sleep deprived Charles was a death wish.

After that lovely morning, he had cloistered himself in his room to draw up plans. Only coming out to cook and do chaos control when it was absolutely necessary. He had looked up Rituals, Blood magic, Tread magic, Sacrificial and Soul magic in order set up wards.

He was thankful that there had been others -people way smarter than him- that had already figured out how to do the things he wanted to do. Otherwise he would have had to spend a lifetime solving Arithmetic equations, balancing rituals and experimenting, with old musty books as his only help. But thankfully, he just had to sort through all of his memories and remember what others had done and repeat it.

_Should be simple enough, right? Like finding a book in a bookstore… Oh yeah, wait. One could get kidnapped by vampires doing that. Better stock up on the silver, just in case a random werewolf pack spontaneously appears out of nowhere and decides he should be made into a sacrifice for some moon god or something equally ridiculous and improbable. _

It was safe to say that he was still a little sour about the incident.

After he spent an unimaginably long day plotting and planning and with an outline in mind of what he wanted to do, he had been ready to blissfully drop dead in his bed for a few hours. He had an extensive ritual planned for the next night and being sleep deprived could be fatal. He also had killer headache from having his brain deep-fried with too much complicated information.

Sleep seemed like too much to ask these days.

"Stop staring at me, it's creeping me out. Go to sleep already." Charles said without opening his eyes.

Since Charles had arrived his nerves had been too on edge for him not to immediately wake up when he felt Tom standing above his bed.

Even as tired as he was, it was unnerving to wake up to the feel of someone watching him in a dark room as he slept. It was fortunate that he could now recognize Tom even with his eyes closed, if not he would have surely attacked him.

"Move over, give me some space." Tom whispered, way too close for Charles' comfort.

"Go to your own bed, you lazy sod." Was Charles uncaring response.

"That's not nice and I'm an orphan. So I tend to get needy and need constant reassurances and-"

"And be a manipulative bastard?" Charles helpfully supplied, he opened one eye to see what Tom was doing, "Now you're pushing me off _my_ bed?" Charles asked incredulous.

"Well since you won't share."

"I don't have to share. This is my bed. Go to your own bloody bed," he snapped angrily.

"Yours is already made and warm."

"So?" Charles asked. He rolled to his back and sleepily glared.

"So why do I have to go through all the trouble of putting clean sheets if we can both fit here?"

"Because this is my bed." Charles repeated, slowly this time. Not his best argument but he was tired.

"Please Charles, just for tonight." Tom said with big pleading eyes and a pout that Charles couldn't see but knew it was there. Charles couldn't find the strength to keep the fight so he relented, as Tom knew he would.

"Oh alright, but only for tonight and you owe me."

"Don't hog the sheets." Tom said as he pushed Charles and took the spot that was already warm with Charles' body heat.

"They're my bloody sheets. I'll hog them if I want to." Charles snapped. He grabbed the sheets closer to his body just to prove that he could very well hog them if he pleased.

"Come on Charles, what happened to all the speeches about sharing?" Tom questioned in amused mockery.

"They don't count if you wake me up in the middle of the night to take up my space and sheets because you were to bloody lazy to make your own bed."

To say it was 'the middle of the night' was a slight exaggeration since it was no later than seven but Tom didn't bother to correct Charles if he felt like being dramatic.

"Come on Charles, you don't want me to freeze do you?" Tom said with his most piteous voice.

"Fine! You won't let me sleep until I do anyway." Charles moved over to the other side of the bed and shared his sheets. In just a few seconds he was already drifting back to sleep.

"Charles?" Tom whispered close to his ear, much to Charles exasperation. As a response Charles rolled over and put more distance.

"Charles?" Tom tried again after a few seconds of silence.

"What?" He snapped since Tom didn't seem incline to drop it. To Charles' annoyance, Tom chose that moment to not speak making Charles consider throttling him. Pity he was just too tired.

"Where were you the other night?" Tom spoke after Charles had stopped waiting for him to response.

"I got captured by vampires." Charles said deadpanned, not even bothering to turn around and face Tom.

"If you don't want to tell me the least you can do is not lie!" Tom snapped

"Tom?"

"Yeah?"

"Go to sleep."

* * *

><p>"You're drooling on my shoulder and it's really grossing me out." Charles said sleepily, He felt the drool lazily roll over his shoulder. It made a wet and cold path in his naked back. Charles had slept on his belly with his head to the side and Tom had used his shoulder as a pillow with one arm tightly draped around his middle. It had kept Charles from being able to move to the other unoccupied bed, as he had wanted to do once Tom fell asleep.<p>

"It should be illegal for you to talk without brushing your teeth. You have horrible morning breath." Tom answered back. He did not move his head from Charles' shoulder but cleaned the spit with a lazy hand... and cleaned said hand on Charles' pajama pants.

"You wouldn't have to smell my breath if you slept on your own bed." Charles responded testily, still sour at having his bed usurped. Charles couldn't see Tom's face but knew the boy was smiling.

"Stop complaining. Who knows, maybe cuddling in my tender years might make me a better person."

Charles snorted, "I'm glad to see that the only thing you got from the conversation last month about being a better person was a new way to manipulate me. _And _we do not cuddle. If you ever say that in public I'll kill you, find a way to bring you back and" He smiled evilly, "Leave you to Abby's capable hands."

"Ouch." Tom gave a throaty laugh. Tom now knew it had been a mistake to tell Charles he was sometimes terrified of Abby, the boy hadn't stopped teasing him about it. "I shiver thinking of torture _a la Abby_. If I ever have an army, I'll let her command it."

"There's a thought." Charles agreed while yawing and stretching his arms. With a lazy hand wave he closed the curtains and sighed in pleasure at the now dark room.

"That veela blood is sure strong in her veins. Last time I took the last cup of coffee I thought she was going to spit a fireball out her mouth and burn me to a crisp." Tom commented, still draped around Charles and it appeared that he had no plan of relinquishing his position.

"I'm more surprised she didn't." Everyone in the house knew better than to get in the middle of Abby and her morning coffee. He laughed remembering his sister antics when she's' coffee deprived.

"I did the sane thing and said I was serving it for her." Tom admitted with a smile.

"Good save." Charles complimented, hugging his pillow closer.

"My life depended on it." Tom said seriously, opening his eyes for the first time and giving him a solemn look. It got lost on Charles since they were so close that Charles only saw a Cyclops.

"I'm sure it wasn't that bad."

Tom sighed, "You are completely blind when it comes to your sister."

"Is not my fault she's innocent and pure and incapable of doing anything wrong." Charles said with an indulgent smile.

Tom snorted, "Point proven."

"I should get up." Charles said after a few moments comfortable of silence.

"You should." Tom responded, he let go of Charles and buried himself in the soft warm bed. Charles used his newfound liberty to stretch his limbs and relax in bed.

For some reason, the same bed that last night was too hard, now it is the most confortable, soft thing in the world. He spent a whole minute just enjoying the smell of the bed. Clean, soapy and fresh with a hint of lavender. And the warmth of it, while the outside air was cold, cold, cold.

"I hope when I'm out of the bath breakfast is already served." Charles commented offhandedly as he sat up and rubbed his eyes.

Tom snorted, "Good luck with that feat of magic." And proceeded to take the space Charles had just vacated and all the available space in bed. A doll would have a hard time finding a space to fit.

"You owe me." Charles reminded him as he took some clean clothes from the wardrobe without looking at them in the still dark room and a towel from the hanger.

"Oh, all right."

Charles smiled in victory.

When a still damp Charles stepped out of the bathroom tea and toast were served on the table, burnt toast at that. Charles simply thanked Tom and started eating. The house had a rare peaceful silence, only broken by the background noise of the chickens and birds outside. Even the dog was still sleeping.

"Where were you the other night?" Tom asked innocently.

"Out." Charles responded a little defensively. _This again?_

"What took you so long?" Tom asked over his steaming cup of tea.

"I got sidetracked." Charles answered without looking up from the toast he was buttering.

"Am I your best friend?"

Charles looked up, surprised at the question, "You are." He answered warily, knowing where this was going and not liking it.

"Then why won't you tell me?" Tom asked with a petulant expression. At last dropping the nonchalant act.

"Because I don't want to talk about it. Please Tom, just drop it."

"_Fine_."

"Fine."

It seemed that a typical morning between them was not complete until they bickered about something.

"Pass the sugar."

Charles gratefully smiled at the peace offering and passed the sugar without comment. He made Tom a three tear toast with extra berry marmalade with a happy face made of the berry's and pushed the plate closer to him until Tom noticed it over his book. He looked at Charles and Charles gave him a sheepish smile with a silent 'sorry for snapping at you'.

With a roll of his eyes Tom took a bite and glared, still chewing. Charles understood it for what it was, 'Apology accepted, but you are still a jerk for not telling me and making me worry the whole night.'

When they had finished their small breakfast Tom asked, "Aren't you late?" Pointedly looking at the window that showed a beautiful morning with an already risen sun.

"No. The Malfoy's are going to pick up Mrs. Malfoy in Paris and they are going to be absent for at least two days."

"What for?" Tom asked, only mildly curious as he helped Charles clean the table.

"Something about Mrs. Malfoy using a magical sexual toy on a muggle and now facing charges."

The different faces Tom made at the comment were hilarious. From confused, trying to figure out how a 'toy' and 'sex' could be used together, to unbelieving and he finally settled for a disgusted expression, "Remember me never to ask again."

"Gladly." Charles answered with a wide smile and a glint in his eyes as he towel cleaned the plates.

Tom sent him a 'you know very well that's not what I meant' look and proceeded to ignore him in favor of his latest book.

"Morning, Princess." Charles said when he noticed Penelope at the kitchen entrance. He opened his arms for the small five year-old clad in pajamas and she ran the last few steps to him, dragging a soft blanket.

The morning continued with it's usual semi controlled chaos and Charles felt his spirits soar. Nothing like a near death experience to make you extremely grateful for a normal boring breakfast and dirty dishes.

Charles spent the rest of the day with them. They all had chores to do around the house but that was done early and the rest of the day was spent playing and studying.

Of course, his brand of games would make an auror sick with envy and he had high expectations on education and took the matter very seriously.

But fun. Fun was always important if he wanted Abby to not 'accidentally' throw books in the fireplace. Again.

* * *

><p>"And the little House Elf lived happily ever after, faithfully serving his Noble Master. The End." Charles finished and put the storybook down.<p>

"Charles?" Penny asked with a troubled look. He did not blame her in the least, this will be the last time he buys a children's storybook without reading it first. Even he was unsettled by the story.

"Yes, Penny?" Charles sat on Penny's bed reclining against the headboard with her in between his legs, holding the magical book in front of her. A small army of candles floated around the room and gave enough illumination for them to read without trouble.

Tom was in Abby's bed, taking advantage of the bright light to finish reading his latest obsession, one hand lazily petting his snake. And Abigael listened from the rug but was more interested in dressing up the dog.

"Why...?" She couldn't seem to be able to put her worries into words.

"Why what Honey?"

"Why are they small and ugly… and have to always do everythin'." She asked with a frown. "Pippy is pretty, I guess." She looked at the animated picture of Pippy the House Elf with a frown, as if doubting her own words, "And she's nice, why should she always be yelled at? It had not been her fault that the vase broke and the chicken burned."

Charles sighed sadly, "Elves were not always like that. They were once an ancient and proud race. It's tragic that this is all that's left of their legacy."

"Story Time!" Abby yelled excitedly, even Tom put down his book and looked at him expectantly.

"We already had story time." Charles said. He had a ritual to perform tonight and was anxious for them to go to sleep. The ritual was…not appropriate for children, to put it mildly. Tom might not be able to sleep through it because of his acute magical sensibility and incurable curiosity but he could at least spare the girls of the macabre sight.

It involved a lot of blood and pain. Lots and lots of pain.

"Come on Charles."

"Please Charles! Pretty please, the last one. We promise!"

"Oh, alright." He relented, "But after this to bed. I won't take no for an answer." He was such a push over. Puppy eyes, pleading tone and a pout and he usually relented.

"Then make it good." Abigael demanded.

Charles gave a long-suffering sigh but no one was convinced. His excitement was apparent. Charles loved telling history just as much as they loved listening. It was their substitute for television and radio.

He made them all sit on the floor with a plethora of pillows and blankets and lowered the lights. In the center of their triangle –Penny was on his lap- a fire appeared, floating in mid air. Figures and shapes formed from the fire. As Charles began the story the fire started telling the story along side him. He lowered his voice, creating a fabricated air of shared secrecy.

"Once upon a time there was a grand Kingdom, known as the Elf Kingdom. The Elves were the most powerful of all the magical beings on Earth; they surpassed wizards and witches in power and intelligence. Their kingdom extended from horizon to horizon and it didn't seem to end. Their control over other magical creatures was absolute."

The fire molded itself to show fiery city complete with hills, mountains and lakes. In shades of blue, red, orange, yellow and white it painted a beautiful scenery. Charles snatched Penny's hand as she made to touch it.

"The Elves were not as they are now, no, they were tall and beautiful. They had a pale green complexion, beautiful eyes from every color under the stars and long hair that would have given envy to any veela. They were also great hunters, the best in the land, trained from a very early age by their fathers. Their culture, long lost now, was full of music, hypnotic flutes and drums that made your heart beat faster. Some days, the dancing lasted long into the night under the light of the moon and the stars. They had a lot of rich traditions and customs that would seem strange now, but then it had been as natural as breathing. They worshipped Magic and imagined her as a beautiful lady Elf in the last stages of pregnancy. And their city, full of crystal towers that gleamed in the sunlight, had her image in every door and window."

The fire had changed from showing these ethereal creatures walking, dancing, singing and hunting in this mythical city full gleaming glass towers, trees and life to a pregnant Elf that seemed even more unearthly in her beauty.

"But the real story began when a small strand of Magic separated itself from the Eternal Flow of Magic many eons before even the Elves existed. As the years passed, the strand gradually forgot it had been part of a greater whole and started believing It was a She and that She was a Witch."

The fire formed a small little girl that looked around twelve with wide curious blue eyes and a flaming red hair that bounced with her every step.

"One faithful day that little witch found by accident the Elf Kingdom. She hid between the trees and secretly watched the graceful, beautiful and powerful beings that called themselves Elves. The little girl was ecstatic and impressed with what she saw. With a smile on her face she went out to greet them, sure in her naiveté that they would welcome her with open arms. But they did not. They bound her like a pig for slaughter and as they were about to execute her for trespassing on their lands, she cursed them. With her dying breath she cursed them to never be able to use magic again and to survive only out of the _kindness_ of wizards and witches, so they could eternally feel the helplessness she felt. Her body, made solely of magic, complied with her last wish to devastating effects. The Elves laughed at her words, still not understanding their grave error."

Charles paused, the light dimmed until the room was almost completely dark and the shapes started seeming more sinister, giving a foreboding feeling. They stared in morbid fascination, unable to stop.

"As the days, weeks and months passed for the first time in their collective history they began to fear. Their bodies, used to surviving on magic, started deteriorating. The hair they once prided, fell. And their once graceful bodies started withering. Chaos formed. The Elves panicked and it seemed like the end of a once great dynasty."

The fire city that had captured their hearts with its unique beauty started crumbling in front of their eyes at an alarming rate. The children watched, mesmerized as the unimaginable beauty turned to ruins.

"Those too prideful to seek help from wizards died along with their culture. Those that sought help were only met with scorn because of their grotesque appearance. They soon discovered that the only way to survive was to live off the excess magic magical humans naturally gave off. They begged and pleaded for mercy, for kindness. They promised that they could do any house chore and would always be loyal. They even promised their children and their children's children to servitude. Wizards, slowly but surely, accepted them as slaves. Realizing that they could get free slave labor and get rid of all those pesky, time consuming chores and have more time to the more pleasurable aspects of life. The end."

Penny and Abby looked in horror at Charles, while Tom was more amused than anything else. Penny then looked at her storybook of _Pippy, the loyal House Elf _and slowly put it down, vowing never to touch it again.

"End of fluffy bonding time. Now bed." That earned him more incredulous looks.

* * *

><p>Charles waited in the living room in front of the fire, studying the ritual maps for tonight until he was sure everyone was asleep. He walked upstairs, evading with practice ease the steps that creaked and pocked his head in the girl's room. Seeing them asleep, he carefully entered. The dog, asleep in the rug immediately opened his eyes and started waging his tail excitedly, making a loud 'tud, tud' noise in the otherwise silent room.<p>

"Shhh." He put a hand on top of his head, "Sleep," he commanded. Like a rag doll, the dog sagged in deep sleep.

He repeated the process until all the occupants were in a deep, dreamless sleep. Sure that they wouldn't be waking up in the middle of the ritual, freak out and ruin it, Charles started.

He went outside and walked for twenty minutes until he found the array of metal poles with rune carvings he had set earlier all over the property and then some. Without much trouble he sent a bolt of electricity through the system. With the precision of a mechanical clockwork, metal pole after metal pole started glowing, surrounding the house and a good part of the flat land with a high-voltage lattice. Startled birds flew from trees and the horizon looked like it had a white and blue sunrise. He hoped no muggle saw this but it was a risk he had to take. Better a few paranoid muggles living in the middle of nowhere, that no one will believe, than the Ministry of Magic demanding answers for the use of highly illegal 'dark' magic and a curious Department of Mystery pocking around. The electricity will not let any magical tracking device to work on the property.

His job outside done for now, he went back inside. He found Tom downstairs, looking out of a window at the white and electric blue skyline with a cup of hot tea. It really looked striking, in an otherworldly kind of way.

"I'm going to be doing a ritual." He said unnecessarily, Tom had known. He had been working on Ritual maps almost obsessively. Tom nodded. "I'm sorry but the high magical levels will bother you." Tom nodded again, resigned. "Do you wish to sleep through it?"

A shake of the head without even bothering to face Charles. He was still pissed. Charles sighed.

"You shouldn't watch. It won't be a pretty sight." Charles warned for the twelve time.

Of course he knew Tom was going to watch. There was absolutely nothing short of forcing him to a coma that would stop Tom. But still, he felt responsible to at least warn him and try to spare him of the trauma.

"Whatever you see or hear, do not stop or interrupt, alright?"

Tom agreed. They had already talked about what the ritual consisted and what would happen in detail. Tom wouldn't agree to be part of a ritual he didn't understand. They had a rather explosive fight about it.

Charles started by sitting on the floor and meditating to clear his mind and relax his body. Mentally preparing himself for the pain.

Charles took a knife from his pocket and cut his hand. Blood poured from the wound but instead of falling to the floor like it was supposed to, it stayed suspended by magic in the air like a rope. Charles started the slow, hard work of bradding ropes of blood with ropes of pure magic while chanting in a forgotten language. Three hours later he finished weaving three small strands of red and white rope, each only six inches long. The exact moment the last was finished the three disappeared, only to appear in the right wrist of the three other occupants of the house.

With shaky legs he went upstairs with a simple paintbrush charmed to use his blood as paint. Trembling arms took Penny from the bed and set her on the floor. Charles used the brush to paint a red circle around her. With a phrase the circle glowed for a second and then dimmed. Charles stepped inside, careful to not touch the blood and started drawing runes on Penny's skin. When he finished he repeated the process with Abigael.

Tom had his done on the first floor; he wanted to be able look out from the window to see the second part of the ritual. He repeated the process with Tom's sharp eyes on him the entire time. The second he stepped out of Tom's circle he fell to the floor with an agonizing scream, grabbing his heart in pain.

Knowing the worst was yet to come he dragged himself outside to await his fate and maybe spare Tom from hearing his screams. He didn't get very far though.

He knew the exact moment it started because it was the exact moment he lost complete control of his magic. This was the point of no return.

His magic gathered outside his body in a glowing white cloud and formed a creature only seen in the nightmares of monsters. Seven foot tall, it towered over the prone form in the floor. The body, even with all its monstrosity, wasn't the horrible part. No, the scaly skin, the four arms, the tail or trunk like legs were not what chilled the blood from the figure on the floor.

It was the smile. That big stretching smile full of pointy teeth that screamed of sadistic delight. Closely followed by the bloodthirsty, vicious red eyes that watched Charles in poorly masked enthusiasm.

Charles slowly stood up and It's smile, if possible, got bigger. Charles gulped when it took a step forward but held his ground.

He did not move when one of It's arm took him by neck.

He did not fought when it squeezed.

He got up when he was savagely thrown to the floor, his head bleeding from brutally hitting the unforgiving ground.

He took a deep breath and waited.

He screamed and cried when one by one the bones of his arm were broken. He rediscovered he had 30 bones in each arm.

The bones of his legs were left untouched. He needed to stand up after all.

The moment he failed to stand up this will all be over but the longer he lasts the better the protection will be. How much he _really_ cared about the people he wanted to protect will be the base for the ritual.

Saying one loved another person was good and all but how much are you willing to suffer to save them from suffering?

His pain will fuel the ritual; will give it shape and strength. How much strength depended solely on him, on how much pain he was willing to suffer and still have the inner strength to stand up. It was his magic torturing him and it will be his magic that will give everything to save the people inside the blood circles but he _really_ must want this. He must be willing to sacrifice his blood, his tears, his pain and his suffering for this.

He screamed and screamed and screamed until he lost his voice and was coughing blood. Faint from blood lost, legs that refused to obey, pain that could not be ignored and fear that paralyzed him. But, still, he stood up each and every time.

The more time passed the longer it took him to get up. No matter how many bones _it_ broke, each and every one of them still hurt as hell, there was no getting used to it. No escaping the pain. Collarbones were particularly painful.

He forgot his name in the pain. He couldn't remember why he started this. What could possibly be worth this kind of pain? But then he would look at the small cottage and a boy staring out of a window. And he would remember.

Remember that there are two little girls sleeping on the cold floor in a circle of blood. That they had _no idea_ of the danger and horror Charles had brought to their life just by associating with them, by staying with them, by loving them. And he would stand up again and wait for the blow. Because this pain would be nothing compared with the pain of losing them.

The wait in between was a torture all in its own. To stand, knowing what was coming, feeling how his mutilated body was giving up on him and wait.

Wait, wait, wait.

Each time he fell he believed that this time he won't be getting up, that it was all too much and each time found the strength to get up. He would wonder how he can get up with broken arms, to later find out that broken arms were the least of his problems.

But then the physical torture stopped and the monster disappeared. Charles mourned it. Mourned the physical pain because what came after was worse. Much worse.

Mental torture and all its merry friends. All of his personal monsters and nightmares came to life then.

He found out that he could still scream.

He only lasted a few minutes.

It was a few minutes too many as far as Charles was concerned.

* * *

><p>Tom doesn't think he will ever forget the screams. <em>Oh, and there were so many of them<em>. But even worse than the screams were the silences.

He watched and watched from his post at the window unable –unwilling- to look away. If Charles was strong enough to suffer it for them, _for him_, then the least he could do was be strong enough to watch. Since he will be the only person to witness his sacrifice. No one else will ever know. Tears streamed down his face unnoticed.

Tom could not see what was torturing Charles only that it always kept coming, no matter how many times Charles fell and stood up it always came.

By the time the screams stopped the sun was rising. Charles sagged unconscious on a pool of his blood while a dome of pure magic surrounded the land.

The pressure from so much magic sent Tom to his knees and when he felt that the pressure was too much and will not let him breath, it eased up. Leaving him shaking on the floor.

He used the walls to get up and once he was sure his legs would support him he went outside. The door creaked, like it always creaked, but the sound was loud in the silence of the aftermath. It was almost a sacrilege that it was such a beautiful morning and that the chickens were making their usual ruckus. Birds sang and a playful breeze messed his carefully parted brown locks.

He slowly walked up to Charles, almost dreading the moment he would see him.

He fell to his knees when he reached Charles and sobbed with what he saw. Trembling fingers moved the blood soaked hair out of his face and traced the lines of his face.

Still.

He was too still. And bloody. And his torso didn't look right. And his arms bended to unnatural angles. And he could see the bones of the right side of his face. It was all wrong, wrong, wrong.

He hugged Charles closer, putting him in his lap and sobbed. He sobbed harder when he heard Charles gasp and choke on his blood filled lungs. Tom was not sure, but he thinks he insulted him for a few minutes.

When he calmed, he tried to pick him up. Only for them to fall because Tom could not stop shaking. Charles whimpered piteously, not moving from the awkward position he landed in.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Tom babbled. The second time he managed to cradle Charles like a baby. Charles arm was in an impossible angle. Tom tried not to look. And slowly, oh so slowly, walked the distance to the door. When he reached the door he just stared and stared. Until he remembered he had magic.

He thanked God, -or the Devil, he doesn't remember- that the toilet was on the first floor and that the house was small but cursed the small size of the toilet. As gently as he could, which was not as gently as he would have wished, he set Charles on the floor. Tom's whole torso was covered in Charles' blood and the smell of copper almost made him throw up.

The water started pouring out, filling the room with steam and the tub with water. Charles was conscious but silent. He just watched. Tom was not sure that he was all there.

Since he could remember he has never been comfortable with nudity. It had been a part of him as far as he could remember, an ingrained lesson from his days in the orphanage.

Without a thought he pealed his blood soaked clothes.

But he had to cut much of Charles clothes to be able to take them out without hurting him. Now that Charles was nude he could see the reforming of bones. How the broken skin and muscle was reassembling itself. The sight was almost as macabre as it's previous the broken state. But it gave him some relief that Charles would survive this.

As carefully as he could he lowered Charles to the tub. Only for the boy to almost drown. He forgot Charles didn't have the strength to keep his head out of the water. After a few panicked seconds he managed to sit behind Charles and keep him upright. The water was a brownish red. Tom couldn't see his hand when it entered the water. He took out the plug so that the water could flow.

He waited under the warm water until the water stopped being red. It took a long time. He held Charles tightly and told him he was an idiot. Repeatedly. After the water stopped being red he washed Charles meticulously.

Charles had fallen asleep sometime while the water was still red. He woke up when Tom was almost finished with his hair.

He sighed and dropped his head on Tom's shoulder. Tom stopped washing his hair and hugged him closer. The scars were no longer bleeding, only red and irritated. But there were so many. They covered his entire body and looked as if someone had repeatedly stabbed him a few months ago. Lash lines covered his entire back. He tried not to remember when, a few hours ago, Charles was on his knees as an imaginary foe mutilated his back with a whip. He could still hear the screams.

Heavily relying on Tom, a semi conscious Charles climbed the stairs. They both collapsed on a bed and for the first time it was not Tom seeking comfort. Charles drew Tom close to him and held him as if his life depended on it. Tears of relief and pain finally falling.

They slept the entire day away. Tom liberally used death glares to scare off anyone who dared enter the room to wake up Charles for either food or to climb the bed with him.

Tom woke up in the middle of the night to Charles watching him. He turned until he was facing Charles and stared back. When he woke up again Charles had already left for work. Breakfast was made and on the table. His favorites featured heavily. Tom sat down and ate everything, even the things he didn't like.


	18. Chapter 18: Hiding a goblin?

**Chapter 18: Hiding a goblin under the floorboards**

_Edited: March 16 2012_

**3 months later, October 1934**

It was early afternoon, the first day without rain after a week straight of nothing but downpour. It was not to say that it was a sunny day, and neither was it dry, but at least the gray ceiling of clouds had valiantly held their water in for a few hours, enough time for them to venture out.

Charles was currently lying down on the itchy wet grass, perspiration running down his face, squinting his eyes at the monotonous grey sky and trying to get his quick breathing back under control.

A brave -or suicidal- chicken was pocking incessantly at his trousers, looking for some non-existing food hidden in its folds. He would have shooed it away had his arms not felt like lead. And it would come back anyway; this particular chicken had an alarming lack of fear or any sense of self-preservation.

Tom had named it Charles, The Chicken –to separate it from Charles, The Human. Charles in revenge had named a pet worm Tom, as in bookworm Tom. The joke lost its luster when he had to explain it no less than four times. The worm only lived for a day after Charles had forgotten to put it out of the owl's reach. Which was convenient since he actually had no intention of keeping a pet worm or any worm.

Sounds of a dog barking, chicken squawking, a plate breaking and someone running down the stairs could be heard in the background. Not that he was paying attention; they were normal background noises in the small cottage that housed four children and no parents. By its normal standards it was practically dead silent.

Charles was squinting at the clouds, trying -and failing- to not feel frustrated. Weeks have passed and he had hoped to be farther with teaching physical defense to Abigael. But she was still having trouble. Penelope and Tom had no trouble with the stances but they were still working on endurance. His sister had the endurance and the physical strength but was reluctant, if not downright hateful, of learning how to defend herself. Or more specifically, of learning how to hit.

He was not being fair, he knew, he was demanding too much in too little time. Abigael… Abigael was not like him. They were as different in personality as they were in physical appearance. He was aggressive, prone to violence and impulsive to her calm, peaceful and relaxed nature. Not that she couldn't be aggressive if provoked, or that she was always rainbows and flowers, far from it, but premeditated violence, the act of raising her fist to hit another human being, her beloved brother at that, was not something she could bring herself to do.

It was selfish of him to ask her to go against her nature, to force her to learn violence when she wanted peace, to make her suspicious of others when she wanted to trust blindly and hope for the best, to open her eyes to the horror of the world when she wanted to close them tightly. It was cruel to make her understand she would need it.

It was selfish, but he was selfish. He would sleep calmer if she at least _knew_ how to defend herself and hope –delude himself in thinking– she never have the need to use it.

He didn't want her to depend on anyone, not even on him, to save her. She will not be the helpless princess if he had anything to say about it. Which he probably shouldn't have, anything to say about it that is, since it was technically _her_ life but that will certainly not stop him from butting in with unwanted 'advice' and 'helpful' pushes.

He didn't have the same problems with Tom or Penelope when it came to learning physical fighting but he had other problems. Tom he had to drag away from a book or the bed. Tom thought that magic will solve all of his problems and that there was no need to fight 'like brutes'.

Oh, he quickly learned otherwise. And while aggressive and dedicated to learning, Tom had no creativity or the ability to act spontaneously. He always needed a set of structured instructions that he could memorize and repeat. It made him a predictable opponent, a weakness Charles liked to abuse.

Penelope was enthusiastic and liked to 'play' with him, whatever was the game. She just loved having his full attention. He taught her to play with a slingshot in a fit of boredom; it was something safe that would teach her hand eye coordination and aiming.

For now she knew the basics of 'what to do in a dangerous situation', how to identify precarious situations and how to behave with strangers. Most of it included first and foremost avoid, if not run and if possible use escape portkey. Or if escape is impossible use small amounts of controlled magic –to not risk magical exhaustion and faint at an inconvenient moment- and hitting key places that would incapacitate most people.

He turned his head and smiled when he saw Tom sulking not far away. Tom was sitting with his legs crossed, glaring at nothing in particular after a particularly vicious fight that Charles won. They both had similar weight and height and Charles was learning as much as he was teaching, but unlike Tom, he exercised every morning.

Muscle memory, strength and lightning quick reflexes are only learned after years and years of practice. There's no shortcut, except to practice religiously. Both of them still had a long way to go. It was a nice bonus to have a 'healthy' outlet to all of their daily fights and frustrations. Living together, especially these last few weeks stuck inside have been…a challenge to their already volatile relationship.

Charles turned his body to the side and supported his head with one fist, in the process leaving a muddy handprint on the side of his face, and watched Abigael as she danced, soaking the non-existent sun and enjoying a few precious moments away from his demanding presence.

Dancing, turning and swaying. Twirling to an imaginary tune. Hands fully extended, head thrown back, gold hair flying and a silly carefree smile on her face.

"Hey, Abb," He called for her attention, she looked back with a frown, expecting him to demand that they go back to fighting, "Let's dance." He offered with a smile.

Had Tom seen that smile, he would have been suspicious. But Abigael, bless her innocent soul, just smiled and agreed without hesitation.

* * *

><p><strong>13, December 1934<strong>

"Charles," Tom called.

When he heard no answer he called again. He went upstairs and peeked into their room only to see it exactly as he had left it this morning. From the sock on the floor, to the messy blankets and the clothes carelessly left on top of the bed, everything was in the same exact place. Tom sighed and tried to rein his anger in.

Charles had forgot about them. Again. Tom, after waiting for twenty minutes outside his tutor's home for Charles to come pick him up, figured he had forgotten yet again and had walked the one hour distance to pick up Penelope and Abigael from ballet class that finished half an hour after him. He had found them sitting on the stairs of the French ballet studio, waiting. He found a dark corner and portkeyed all of them back to the house.

He could have portkey'ed away on his own using his own key portkey but he had wanted to see if Charles had only forgotten _him_. He had been both relived and annoyed that they had been forgotten too. They as well, could have used the portkey home on their own but it had become a tradition for Charles to pick all of them up and take them to different places in town to eat.

They never ate at the same place twice, Charles insisting on an adventure quest to find the best food London could provide, and everything from posh and high class to a street vendor from another country selling strange and exotic food was valid.

Tom usually hated this 'tradition' since he liked consistency. But days like this, which Charles forgot about them, made him even madder since he couldn't even rely in the consistency of eating in a different place every day.

And there was something deeply insulting and hurtful about being forgotten.

Tom had four new personal tutors plus two hours a week of music and language lessons; the girls had that plus dance and etiquette lessons. He had, of course, known that Charles had done it to get them out of the house and had been curious and suspicious about it. But the temptation of formal classes, tutors and leather bound books filled with knowledge, had been too much for his greedy little heart and he had caved in without much of a protest. As Charles had known he would. Sometimes he hated that Charles knew him so much.

He was worried for Charles, not that he'd ever tell him. Charles would mock him for it; tell him he was being a 'worry wort' and other silly untruthful things. But Charles was obsessed. Obsessed with what, Tom didn't know. Charles had made sure that their days were filled to the brim with only time to eat, sleep and little else. And Charles was a master at deflection. Tom would ask him a pointed question, demand to be answered and hours later, sometimes days later, Tom would realize that he spent three hours talking about himself and his problems and Charles had never answered the question.

Tom walked up the small stairs that led to the attic. Charles had 'borrowed' –forcedly taken without permission- a house elf from the Malfoy's to make the attic ceiling higher about the same time he hired the tutors, in the process had discovered that because he was 'Master's Master' he could command the little ugly things however he wanted. Charles had basically handed over all of the household chores without thought, not even leaving the courteous pause when one pretends to think.

Abigael had protested against the abuse of the 'poor things'. She had been bought with dance lessons; she still hesitated, etiquette lessons were added and with one last mournful look she left them to do the dishes. Penelope had cried over the use of the 'poor ugly creatures'. With a pleading look from Charles and paint lessons she had relented to the continual use of intelligent beings as slaves. Tom had followed the winning technic and gathered a small library worth of books and additional tutors. Not that he cared about the ugly things one wit. He was actually glad of not having to do the hundred little things around the house that were usually required of him.

As long as _he_ wasn't the slave, Tom had no problem with slavery. A common thought in humans at the time, magical and non-magical alike.

Tom, of course, had used the books to research the ritual Charles had done. He hadn't found the ritual in any of the books only that rituals that used human blood were labeled as 'Dark', whatever that meant, and that rituals that were fueled by pain, sorrow or anger were even more of a no-no.

Tom had hounded Charles for answers until he partially answered a month ago.

_A month ago,_

"_Why did you do it?" Tom asked when they were both awake late at night playing a game of cards in front of the fire to pass the time. They were magical cards and Tom was convinced that they cheated. He had even seen a few exchange places when they thought no one was looking. _

"_Why would I do what?" Charles had asked without looking up from his cards, a thoughtful frown on his face. At Tom's tense silence Charles looked up, "Why would I willingly submit myself to that kind of torture?" It was sometimes frightening how well Charles could read him. He has even considered that Charles reads his mind but Charles has assured him that he does not. _

_Tom nodded and Charles continued after a prolonged pause, "Before, it had seemed like a perfectly reasonable and logical plan." He moved his head from side to side in exasperation with a self-mocking bitter smile in his lips, silently saying 'How foolish was I?' _

_Tom did the courteous thing and did not respond. _

"_It would be the strongest magical protection I could give you, short of sacrificing my own life. I told you that the man that was seeking my family knows we are in London." _

_He looked at Tom and Tom nodded, Charles had admitted that that was the reason they were running and the reason they couldn't go to the Alley anymore, Charles dropped a card to the pile and continued, "I admit I was scared and acted rashly. It seemed like such a small price to pay at the moment." Charles passed a hand through his messy black hair._

"_When the first bone broke my first thought was 'what the hell was I thinking?' The sound of the bone snapping, the tearing of the skin as the bone pierces and breaks the skin, seeing the off-white of the bone covered in blood and nerves, the ripped muscles and the searing pain was… unpleasant." _

_There goes the understatement of the century, thought Tom, but did not interrupt. _

"_It was horrid the first time as it was the final time." A tremor passed through his body at the remembered pain and Charles visibly had to calm himself before continuing, "Let's not talk about this any more," Seeing Tom about to protest, Charles added, "Please."_

"_Then tell me about the theory behind it, please! There's absolutely no information on it in books." Tom pleaded with wide innocent eyes and a pout. "Or were you got the information from?"_

"_Why do you want to know?" Asked Charles in exasperation._

"_Because I don't like not knowing…Yes, yes I know you showed me the drafts and the ritual maps," Tom inserted before Charles protested, "But is not the same as the theory."_

_Charles nodded and stayed silent. They continued the game. Tom did not interrupt the silence and waited as patiently as he was capable of until Charles decided he was ready to begin. Charles would talk when he was ready and not a second before and rushing him would only convince him not to talk._

"_The thing about Old Rituals" Charles began and Tom almost sat on top of him in his rush to hear every single whispered word, "is that they test you on a very personal level… and failing to meet the expectations usually has a high price." _

"_This one, a blood protection ritual, had as a price my suffering but no other consequence should I had stopped other than the strength of the protection. Others might test you in other ways, like making you an addict of magic and exposing you to large amounts of magic, if you can beat the addiction, the ritual will work. If not… you might become insane. In some you might forfeit your life or the life of another." Charles shrugged unconcerned, as if this was just another history lesson, "The one I did was relatively safe because I would have not suffered any negative consequences had I not been capable of resisting the pain."_

_Tom didn't know much about the subject but he was pretty sure not many would call it 'relatively safe'. _

"_It's why they are considered 'Dark' nowadays." Charles continued explaining, "They have only the ones that failed to complete the ritual to base their opinions on; the ones who succeeded would never brag about such a thing. For this reason the government made laws prohibiting those kinds of rituals, to 'protect' the general population._

_But the point of old rituals is not to hurt you or others. It is magic as it was meant to be. Raw, uncontrollable, wild, just like nature. A test of your personal strength if you will. It asks the questions of: Are you worthy of what you demand? Can you face pain, real, unimaginable pain, and still get up? Do you have what it takes to rise from the ashes? Even when your body fails, will your spirit continue to fight? Or are you nothing more than the meat that forms your body?_

_Don't get me wrong, I agree that not many would be able to rise to the challenge but like everything, I think that everyone should have the right to choose for themselves. There's no way in hell that I'd do it twice though. _

_Modern rituals only need a few runes, a swish of a wand here and there, a few choice words and badabim badabam it's done. Doesn't compare in strength obviously, nothing like proving yourself to magic or having magic's blessing, but its more convenient and safe._

_It's the same difference between wand and wandless. Wand is easier, more convenient and safe but wandless is more powerful. True, it is unpredictable, dangerous for the body if not handled correctly, addictive and not to be used in subtle ways, like creating a tea cup but I wouldn't change it for the world."_

"_And you can't lose your body but it is easy to lose or break a twig." Tom added._

"_If you do, you have bigger problems." Charles answered back and just like that the seriousness of the moment passed._

_After a long silence that they kept playing with the cards Tom spoke, "I'd never do it." _

_To any other person he would have had to explain the comment but he knew that Charles would understand his cryptic comment. _

"_I know." Charles had responded with calm acceptance and continued dropping cards to the pile. _

_Tom then remembered yet again why he did not totally hate Charles. Charles accepted him for who he was and Tom was not someone who would voluntarily submit himself to torture. Not for no one, not even for Charles, and not for anything. Tom knew that and Charles knew that and he did not mind._

_When he looked back to the cards he noticed he was losing. Damn. There went the three weeks of chores he had betted with._

* * *

><p>The attic now sported mountains of books; one book on top of the other, forming crooked piles against the walls. One wall was dedicated to maps of all around the world. London and Europe he could easily recognize but others looked like the sea or some underwater place.<p>

The floor had arrays of rituals drawn in chalk. Tom had to walk carefully around to not disrupt any of the lines. An old crooked desk was obscured in papers with Charles messy handwriting and even more moldy old books.

The room was dark, as night had already fallen. Un-lightened white candles littered every corner of the room, some in unwise places, like on top of books or near the curtains and others balanced on the edge, held only by magic. Charles himself appeared to be sleeping on an old pale pink flowery armchair that had been savaged from a dumpster and fixed with magic.

From the door Tom could only see Charles feet in grey socks hanging from the arm of the armchair and hear his soft breathing. He suspected that the socks had once been black and now were grey from the chalk on the floor, since they didn't own any grey socks.

"Charles?" Tom whispered again, when he received no response he crossed the room and went around the armchair. Charles was as he had imagined him to be. Eyes closed, mouth partially opened, feet hanging and head resting against the back of the armchair, hair unwashed and greasy and a trickle of blood running down his nose.

The first time he had seen Charles like that, Tom had panicked, like any normal person. It had been the days before the blood ritual months ago. Now it was a common sight. Whenever Charles was stumped on a problem he would go in to this deep meditation and come out mysteriously knowing the answer. It baffled Tom to no end but whatever he did, it came with a harsh price.

Charles would not wake up no matter how loud Tom shouted or how hard he shook him. And when he finally wakes up, his nose would be bleeding, his eyes bloodshot, if he ate anything before the meditation he would vomit or dry heave if he did not.

For a few minutes he would also be dizzy and disoriented, calling them by different names or talking nonsense. It seemed unhealthy but Charles assured him that it was nothing to worry about. Tom couldn't help but notice that every time he did it the symptoms got worse.

The attic was freezing since there was no fireplace and the windows had been left open, ugly green and white polka dots curtains flapping about. Charles would probably get sick if he stayed here any longer, Tom thought in a detached sort of way.

Tom turned around and went back downstairs, leaving the windows open and Charles uncovered. If Charles had forgotten about him, he could forget about him too.

He deserved to get sick; especially since Charles have been keeping so many secrets from him.

"Where's Charles?" Abigael asked him with a frown as he entered the kitchen.

"Sleeping. Best not to bother him."

* * *

><p><strong>December 15, 1934<strong>

"Achuuuu!" Charles sneezed loudly. Cleaning his nose noisily with a tissue. "Tooom, Tooom!" Charles called in a raspy tone, his squinting his teary eyes.

"What?" Tom answered annoyed. He hadn't been able to read even one page without Charles howling for him.

"Bring me soup." Charles demanded nasally from under a mounting of sheets and pillows that only left half of his face uncovered.

"You forbade me from cooking after last time and I don't even know how to make a soup." Tom reminded him calmly, hoping that Charles voice would give out already and make him mute for the duration of his sickness.

"Oh. Then bring me water… and more blankets." He instead demanded.

"Anything else Your Royal Highness?" Tom asked sarcastically.

Charles thought about it for a few seconds, "More tissue and a book –but not one of yours or anything boring or educational and… hot chocolate?" He asked hopefully.

"You are so annoying!" Tom responded snapping his book shut and glaring with all his might at the sick boy on the bed.

"I'm sick, you're supposed to do anything I want."

"No I'm not."

"Yes you are." Charles said with a frown, as it were obvious and Tom was the insane one.

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"You are so odious. I cannot believe I put up with you."

If Charles would have responded with anger or more petulant demands Tom would have continued the fight but since Charles' eyes shone with hurt and the glint of unshed tears, all of his angry retorts were drained again and he responded with a, "Fine. I'll go."

Never again, Tom vowed, would he let Charles get sick.

* * *

><p><strong>A few days later, December 20, 1934.<strong>

"Tom come here a second." Charles called in his still nasal voice from the attic. Tom marked the page he was reading in the book about trains and went upstairs. The attic looked even more chaotic than usual and that was saying something. Everything had been pushed to the walls to make space in the floor for a ritual.

"You came, great, now this is a prototype ritual for banishing souls." He explained holding a bloody towel to his nose, ignoring or not noticing the trickle of blood running from his ears. "I'm going to feed it magic and you with your awesome magic sensing skills are going to tell me if the magic is flowing unperturbed counterclockwise."

"No." Tom responded simply.

"Now stand over there…" Charles continued without noticing he had spoken.

"I said no." Tom repeated forcefully, stealing himself for a confrontation.

"What do you mean 'no'?" Charles asked confused.

"No. I'm not doing anything until you explain to me what you are doing."

"I'm modifying a ritual that banishes souls." He answered readily. It was amazing how this sort of comment was becoming more and more ordinary. In a few short years Tom figured he would stop being surprise by it all.

"Why?"

"Because I'm in need of a ritual that banishes soul."

Tom put a hand over his eyes and breathed deeply, _"Charles!"_

Charles shifted from foot to foot, uncomfortable and said, "I cannot tell you." In a regretful tone that in other occasions might had more effect on him. But not this time.

"Then I cannot help you."

"Come on Tom, don't be like this." Charles pleaded, with eyes open and slightly shocked at his refusal.

"Like what?" Tom questioned harshly.

"Just…help me, please." Charles said soft enough to be considered a whisper, sounding pained. But Tom would not back down. Not this time. Enough was enough. He wanted answers.

"Then trust me with the truth, the whole truth, not bits and pieces of it." Tom demanded

Charles stayed silent and Tom turned around and went back downstairs.

* * *

><p><strong>December 29, 1934<strong>

"So what do you want for your birthday?"

"You know what I want."

"World domination?" Charles tried to joke but it felled flat on the tense atmosphere. "_Tom_," Charles said his name in exasperation, tired of the same argument.

"Go. I wish to be alone."

Charles sighed but got up from the foot of the bed Tom was sitting with a book and closed the door of their room. It was a rule that if any of them demanded space or time from an argument that the other respects said wish. With three of them magical the probability of them lashing out with magic and hurting the other person was too big to be ignored.

**January 13, 1935**

Charles opened the front door, noticed that it screamed louder than usual, made a mental note to fix it later, and walked down the three steps while putting his winter jacket on. A blanket of white, clean snow covered the grounds. He started following the footprints on the snow until he reached the edge of the forest and the footprints stopped. He looked up to find Tom sitting on a high branch of a sturdy looking tree looking at the horizon.

Charles sighed, took off his heavy winter jacket and started climbing up, unconsciously using his magic to warm himself. He reached Tom panting and sat himself besides the still quiet boy that was ignoring him but the frown on his face indicated that he was annoyed with his presence in his 'secret place'.

Charles was biting his lip and trying to figure out how to start this conversation. He had decided to tell Tom the truth, partly because he needed his help and partly because he missed Tom.

"When I was four I remembered my past lives…and also my future lives, including this one. This makes me a target for a group of beings that do not like me to have so much information. They are not exactly people, nor are they alive. They come from another place. As far as I know there are four universes. We live in a universe with magic and matter. They live in a universe were matter does not exist and has never existed but they have magic. One other has matter but not magic and the last has neither magic nor matter, it is nothing and has nothing, not even space. In theory, they balance each other. There are also 'pockets' in between universes that are called Realms.

I knew they would be coming for me and prepared my family so we could flee. Abby and me made it but I found out that my parents did not made it out in time. They are in prison right now but I cannot save them since it is obviously a trap. First I have to make sure that that _thing_ that is looking for me is out of the picture. Since you cannot kill something that is not alive, I want to banish it but I cannot do that without your help."

So that was not the whole truth per se but it was close enough.

"And the blood and blackouts?"

"The human mind was not made to hold so many memories. I have to block them to be able to hold my sanity and my identity. I try not to use the information often… but sometimes I need information and I cannot get anywhere else or understand things that are way out of my league."

"So it's not that you are truly smart."

"Don't be a git Tom."

"Alright."

"Alright you'll stop being a git or alright you'll help me?"

"I'll help you, it is obvious that you need me."

"Watch out, narcissistic personality disorder peeking thru."

"I'm just glad that you recognize how terrible your life would be without me."

"Absolutely horrible. Unthinkable."

"You'd be lost."

"Yes, what would I do with all that extra bed space?"

* * *

><p><strong>Hyperion Malfoy<strong>

He had been warned. But at the time he had not really paid too much attention to what was being said. He had been too busy imaging himself casting wandless magic on his enemies to listen really. He could now freely admit that he had been too greedy and reckless to measure the full extent of the consequences. When he signed his name in that contract he never expected his day-to-day life to be affected. So it came as a surprise, when from one morning to another he hardly recognized his own life.

Charles Winter controlled every aspect of his life. From what he ate to what he did. His days, like never before, were carefully scheduled to the minute. He ate based on a strict diet of healthy foods, exercised every morning, practiced mental control over his magic in his work hours and meditated every night.

And that blasted boy must have cursed his house elves because not one of them would listen to him to even prepare a darned sweet. Not even a biscuit! He even tried to buy something sweet in Diagon Alley, only to have it disappear in his hands. The same happened with the next fifteen other sweets he had tried to eat before giving up.

He doesn't even like sweets all that much! But since he had been _ordered_ not to eat sweets its all he could think about.

A few weeks ago his body, while not being overweight, had been far from fit. A career in politics, meetings, social gatherings and long hours behind a desk had done little to his body. The first few weeks had been a horrible and painful.

It had been rather uncomfortable going to the ministry after he had tried to cut corners and not do the stretching afterwards. His fellow wizards had noticed and asked awkward questions about his strange gait and grimaces. He had passed it off as a new lady friend. As expected from a married pureblood wizard of high esteem, he received many pats in the back, 'atta boy' and lecherous grins.

What had been harder to explain was his absentmindedness and general inattention to important conversations. Part of the exercises he had been ordered by (Slave Master) Winter was to feel his magic _at all times_. Not just when in deep meditation but when talking and walking. The result was that he looked stupid and clumsy most of the time. The rest of the time he looked brain dead.

He had no excuse for his sudden drop of intelligence, until a helpful idiot asked him if he was falling in love with his paramour. He had gladly taken the excuse and answered that yes, she had been occupying his thoughts and later hinted at the book all purebloods had but that none would admit at having, Kama sutra, and that had been that. He was now a legend among lesser mortals for his tantric adventures.

This evening he had invited Master Winter, as he had to refer him as after a disrespecting comment a few weeks ago, to a drink since he had an important question to ask him and it could not be done in front of his son.

"How's your lovely wife?" The child asked as he settled himself in a chair and poured himself a cup of white wine.

"Drunk and depressed. But mostly drunk." Hyperion answered uncaringly.

"Do you ever regret marrying her?" Charles asked, which surprised the Malfoy patriarch since he rarely asked personal questions. It was probably this surprise that made him answer honestly.

"Every day."

"Ah."

"So did the potion worked." Hyperion asked to fill the silence. When he received a nod he asked, "Any side effects?" Hyperion was trying to keep with what passed as 'polite conversation' between them but it was difficult to do with the taciturn child.

"None. You were right to suggest the moon beans." Hyperion had helped him with a potion Charles had been trying to modify. It was a modified polyjuice potion that lasted longer and would make the user look like an older version of themselves.

"You smell like vomit." Hyperion commented on one last attempt at any normal conversation.

"Do I? I don't smell it. Penny has the flu and vomited her food, which Abby saw and vomited out of disgust."

"Why didn't you magic it out?" Hyperion asked, disgusted beyond belief.

"I did. But someone had to bathe Penny and by the time I put her to sleep, I didn't have time to bathe myself."

"Thank Merlin I don't have to deal with children."

Charles made a humming sound that could have meant anything and they continued pouring drinks. After some minutes of silence Hyperion hesitantly asked what the question that prompted this awkward meeting, "Could the meditation exercise we do with you bring forth a forgotten memory?"

"It's possible." Charles said thoughtfully, "But then again, the mind is an unpredictable thing, so it's hard to say."

Hyperion nodded. And Charles kept the silence.

"Aren't you going to ask?" He finally exclaimed. Why couldn't Charles just be normal?

"Nop. Not really interested."

"It was a very long time ago..."

"_Really_ not interested." He pressed.

Hyperion ignored him and continued, "Abraxas was very little you see, and we where celebrating his birthday on our manor in Italy."

"You can stop now. Please." Charles begged one last time.

"I don't remember which one. We had invited a lot of people for the night but only blood family stayed the night. Roxanne's father... well, he-" At this Hyperion stopped and served himself another drink and promptly emptying it. "-he tortured Abraxas. Made him swallow experimental pain-inducing potions until the boy passed out. At least that's what we think happened. We erased his memory of the event. But the incident brought fourth memories in my wife she would have preferred not to remember. At first, she blamed herself for not protecting her child, as a mother should have done. She couldn't stand to see Abraxas. To see the innocence and love in his face, when all she saw was her failure as a mother. Then she started blaming me and that ruined the little love we had for each other. We were an arranged marriage like most are, you see. And somewhere along the line I started blaming my son for ruining our chance for a happy life." The story poured out from his mouth like projectile vomit with more details he had cared to share but that he apparently _needed_ to share.

"What happened to your wife's father?" Charles asked, resigned to the conversation. Apparently Hyperion needed to say this and needed someone to hear. Whether that someone wanted or not to listen.

"Oh, she killed him in a fit of rage that same day. Probably died along side of him as well. Couldn't cope with the new memories that put into perspective so many things she couldn't understand as a child. She also couldn't handle what had happened to our child, her baby, as well. She hadn't been able protect him just like her mother hadn't been able protect her. "

"That's why you are so lenient with her affairs." Charles stated, understanding something that had eluded him since the beginning. How could someone so proud, who thought so low of women, could let his wife run around with other men was something Charles had silently wondered.

"That is not my wife anymore. Hasn't been for a very long time now." Hyperion said mournfully.

"I'm sorry." Charles answered, awkward and uncomfortable with this conversation. The exact reason he hadn't wanted to start it in the first place.

"Don't be. I have just begun to accept that it was no ones fault. Except for Lemar's, of course, may his soul rot in hell."

"You have to stop blaming your son for something that it was not his fault. It is killing him and is killing you."

"My father didn't believe in soft nurturing."

"You're father was an abusive man and you are old enough to know that what he did to you wasn't right."

After a while he responded in a soft whisper, "I don't know how to be a good father."

"You will learn." Charles responded with more certainty than he felt.

* * *

><p><strong>February 2, 1935<strong>

"So you're having them build our library." Tom half stated, half asked.

"Yup." Charles said, looking out of the kitchen window and serving himself a glass of orange juice.

"Them. The ones that paid ten million galleons. You have them building a library you said you would build me."

"That's about right."

"Please... explain to me why -how- _why_ you got the Malfoy's, the richest family in Europe, to build a library you were to lazy to do yourself _on winter_. It's freezing out there"

"They said they didn't want to run anymore. I asked if they'd be willing to trade for something else. They said yes without hearing what other thing I could make them do instead... And it's good for anger management. It did you wonders."

"Yes." Tom responded drily, "Now I only think of killing you twice a day, instead of constantly like before."

"See! _Progress_." Charles said with a wide grin, saluting with his juice. "Since they'll be here in the mornings I won't have to leave." He said cheerfully.

"Would _they_ be staying for breakfast?"

"I think so."

"Lovely." Tom said with distaste. He _hated_ Abraxas Malfoy. Hated with a passion that few people had ever been blessed with.

"Cheer up Tom. Here have some orange juice."

"You're impossible you know. I don't even know how I put up with you."

"Because you _love_ me." Charles said in a ridiculous voice and got out of the way of the sharp pointy object thrown his way.

"If you call love not having contemplated an eventual escape plan."

Charles laughed, "I can live with that. Anyway, they're practicing their wandless warming charms while simultaneously concentrating on doing something else."

"So you put them on winter to build you a _conveniently_ needed library."

"You tend to learn faster when your balls are freezing and losing concentration might mean losing a finger." Charles said with a careless shrug, washing the glass he had used and putting it back on the shelf.

"I don't remember you doing that to me." And immediately backtracked with a panicked expression, "Not that I wish you to."

Charles laughed, "You have all of you life to learn with me and you have a instinctual grasp on magic. They only have three years and a lot of problems to overcome."

"After the three years are you going to keep contact with the Malfoy's?" Tom asked casually, trying to pretend it didn't matter either way.

Charles answered with a shrug, much to Tom's hidden distaste.

"What do you want for breakfast?" Charles questioned, looking inside the cold box to see what they had.

"Another Gringots owl arrived." Tom mentioned, opening a window to let it pass. The owl dropped the letter and flew out with haste. Their owl, Rabbit, was very aggressive towards 'competition' and they had learned to stay as little of time inside the house as possible. Charles closed the door of the cold box, took the letter and read it quickly.

"I think I'll actually have to go. They are being pretty persistent."

"We'll have to go, you mean." Tom corrected.

"No. I'll have to go." Charles insisted.

"Come on Charles, we haven't been in the Alley since _forever_ and if anything happens we have portkeys, emergency portkey, portals and emergency portals. We could survive Armageddon without a scratch. The banishing ritual is already done and waiting in the safe location. And you don't know for sure if they have someone watching the Alley for you."

"It's dangerous." Charles insisted

"Nothing is going to happen but we are prepared for the worst. We can go for a few hours and come back. Nothing will happen, you'll see."

* * *

><p>...<p>

"Ok. Does everyone remember the instructions?" Somehow Charles had been convinced to bring them along against his better judgment. He suspected foul play.

"Charles, stop it. Just relax everything will be all right. You will go to the bank and we'll stay together following each and every one of your sixty-seven rules." Not kidding, Charles had actually made them memorize sixty-seven rules and four escape plans. He was beyond paranoid, not that Tom blamed him too much.

Charles hesitantly walked away from them, looking back a few times. Tom smiled back, adjusted his scarf, took Penny's hand in his and walked over with Abigael to their first stop of the day. The bookstore. Owl-ordering was good and all but it did not substitute good old fashion book hunting.

After finding a good book on dark rituals he completely forgot to check if the girls were still with him and said girls got bored after half an hour and walked out of the bookstore.

* * *

><p>"Welcome Mr. Winter, so nice that you <em>finally<em> decided to meet us on our third summoning. We almost reached the conclusion that you thought us beneath your noticing." The goblin said with distaste.

"Of course not, circumstances have not permitted me the freedom to do so sooner is all."

"Sit down please Mr…_Winter_, we have a lot to discuss." After checking some papers on his desk the goblin said,

"It is our regret to inform you that the Ministry of Magic is doing a formal investigation on your family. It seems that after the address of your primary residence vanished from the high security vaulted papers and it was later found that no permission have been submitted or granted for a Fidelius charm. This shall we say, raised flags of concern. Even with the slow moving wheels of government the investigation is well on its way to be granted official permission for a hearing. Since you're a minor, the sentence in Azkaban, and there will be sentence in Azkaban, they take matters of blood falsification very seriously, will be paused until you are of age."

"I see." Charles responded calmly.

"You do not seem very worried, Mr. Winter. Perhaps you fail to comprehend the magnitude of your problems and the precarious position you're in."

"I understand very well, Mr. Goblin," the goblin had not offered any name when Charles walked in his office, "I am just patiently waiting for you to tell what you think you are gaining by telling me this sensible information."

"We have come to the conclusion that you are hiding a goblin from the Goblin Nation. We understand that he is a criminal hiding from punishment. We wish him back, safe and sound, so that he can, by our laws, face justice."

"…Hiding… a goblin?" Charles asked slowly, hiding the true extent of his shock.

"Yes, Mr. Winter. We know that it is he who has been teaching you our language and telling you in what to invest. We know of him so it is no use hiding him anymore."

"Ah."

"We are willing to help you, to some degree, with the ministry if you hand him over and all of the money you illegally gained from his association." That, of course, meant all.

"That is very…generous…of you." Charles had a hard time not saying that derisively but he managed somewhat. "But no, thank you. I can deal with the ministry on my own."

"What do you mean '_no_'? You have no choice but to accept! You'd be facing more than a decade of jail the minute you turn seventeen and the ministry will turn your account into a public account for ministerial purposes as punishment for corruption. And that goblin is a disgrace that will have to face punishment sooner or later." The goblin said with agitation, banging his fist on the desk and having his glasses drop to the floor with the brisk movement.

"Thank you, I am sure the fee for counseling and advisement will cover the expenses of your time and patience." Charles said, getting up. The fee for counseling and advisement was a lot of galleons, more than enough money to compensate for the information.

"No, no, no! Wait! I have to speak to my supervisor if you do not accept the deal." The goblin quickly got up and left the office. Charles sat back again and waited. Mulling over different plans to get out of the ministry eye.

"Mr. Winter, I am Cogwheel, I am to understand that you did not accept our generous proposal?" The goblin that entered asked. He looked older than the previous goblin and the fact that he introduced himself first meant that he was not trying to snub him.

"That is correct, Mr. Cogwheel." Charles answered back respectfully.

"And may I inquire why?"

"You may."

One second, two seconds…

"Then please, Mr. Winter, explain why our proposal is insufficient."

"First and foremost, I do not have any goblin hiding under the floorboards of my cottage that I might give to you, second you are asking too much for too little. Wizards are a greedy bunch, with what you are asking I can, not only get out of my sentence but be awarded Minister of Magic."

"It is hard to believe you are not hiding an illegal goblin. It is the only way that a human child like you could have learned our most sacred language and always know in what to invest. It is obvious that's the work of a goblin."

"It is not my job to convince you. You either believe it and we can move on from there or not and I walk out."

"Let's say, we believe you are not, in fact, hiding the fugitive goblin named Lestar Monsomary, charge for forty accounts of forgery, stealing five hundred galleons and the murder of his mother, how did you learned the language and who is feeding you information on the market?"

"I learned the language by my own means, as you noticed my information was outdated and I am very good in predicting the rise and falls of the market. Let's be frank, we both know you could take the blame for missing papers and the investigation will be dropped since the wizards are in no way prepared to forge war against the goblin nation for something so small. They neither have the resources nor the manpower to do so. I would be willing to advise once a month as a Friend of the goblins in what is prudent to invest or not. I would, of course, gain one percent of the profit."

Both goblins looked at each other and the older one said, "We will talk with our Leader, wait here one moment."

They came back half an hour later with two other goblins, "Once a week and you gain nothing from it but if we lose, the money lost will be taken from your account."

"I can compromise once every two weeks, win seventy-five of a percent, face a set fine if I lose more than I gain for the Goblin Nation and this contract does not in any way shape or form transfer to my family or affects the accounts of family members." Charles rebuked.

After four hours of 'polite' screaming and fighting they settled on:

The Goblin Nation will accept that they made an error on the familial papers of the Winter house in exchange for:

Two hundred (200) galleons of paper and transaction fees

Charles Winter will provide correct information to be summited to the Ministry of Magic. Any further pursue of the Ministry of Magic due to incorrect information submitted would not be the responsibility of the Goblin Nation.

the employment of one Charles Winter as 'Friend' of the Goblin Nation to come once every two (2) weeks. The Goblin Nation will pay him for his services with 0.35% of the winnings made with his proposals using the Goblin money.

Any year that the Goblin Nation has a net loss on the account used for investment, Charles Winter will receive a set penalty of 100,000 galleons to be paid immediately. If and only if, it can be proven that the net loss was caused by the direct suggestion of one Charles Winter.

This contract is in not inheritable to any family member once Charles Winter is unable to carry on in case of death or serious injury.

If it is later found that Charles Winter in any way housed, hid or helped Lestar Monsomary, charge for forty accounts of forgery, stealing five hundred galleons and the murder of his mother, he will face proper punishment from the Goblin Nation and will refuse any help given by the wizards to escape punishment.

**Papers to be submitted to the Ministry of Magic:**

Name: **Annabelle Winter**, wife of Frank Winter

Gender: Female

Date of Birth: Winter, 1899

Family information: None, disinherited from family. Following the laws of disinheritance any son/daughter that is disinherited is not permitted to use or divulge in any way the name of said family, has no right to inherit money, land or any material objet from the family and cannot be protected by the laws that protect children from important family lines.

Nationality: French.

Blood: ¼ Veela

Magical ability: None

Current Status: Missing.

By the laws governing the Ministry of Magic, any person missing for more than five (5) years will be declared deceased.

Name: **Frank Winter** (adopted surname)

Gender: Male

Date of Birth: Spring 1897

Family information: None, disinherited from family. Following the laws of disinheritance any son/daughter that is disinherited is not permitted to use or divulge in any way the name of the family, has no right to inherit money, land or any material objet from the family and cannot be protected by the laws that protect children from important family lines.

Nationality: German

Blood: Squib

Magical ability: None

Current Status: Missing

By the laws governing the Ministry of Magic, any person missing for more than five (5) years will be declared deceased.

_Children of Annabel and Frank Winter:_

Name: **Abigael Winter**

Gender: Female

Date of Birth: Summer, 1923

Nationality: German

Blood: 1/8 Veela

Magical ability: None

Current Status: In care of Charles Winter, brother of Frank Winter, age: 45, magical status: Wizard. Relation to the child: Uncle.

Name: **Charles Gustav Winter**

Gender: Male

Date of Birth: November 1923

Nationality: German

Blood: 1/8 Veela

Magical ability: Wizard

Current Status: In care of Charles Winter, brother of Frank Winter, age: 45, magical status: Wizard. Relation to the child: Uncle.

_Adopted Children of the Family._

Adopted by: Charles Winter age: 45, magical status: Wizard. Relation to the family: Brother of Frank Winter

From: London muggle Orphanage

Name: **Tom Marvolo Winter**; Year of Birth: 1926; Magical Status: Wizard

Name: **Penelope Winter**; Year of Birth: 1929; Magical Status: Witch

Current Address: _

"By any chance are you selling any house?" Charles asked, looking up from the papers he was filling.

"Well, we may have something for you…" The goblin then proceeded to show him the most expensive manors they had available. Maybe it was a form of punishment or maybe because the goblin knew he could pay it.

"No way in hell I'm I paying so much for a manor. Give me the one that is falling apart, I'm not paying so much for a decoy house."

-0-

"So, what do you want to hear first the bad news or the good news?" Charles asked, siting down on the patch of floor besides Tom in the bookstore.

"Bad." Tom answered, looking up from his reading.

"We lost our 'pureblood' status and I have more work."

"Good news?"

"More money, a new house and escaped a sentence in Azkaban."

"Told you we were going to get caught with those fraud papers and then _I _might not be able to go to Hogwarts!"

"Thank you for worrying that I might have gone to Azkaban."

"Worried about _you_? I'm more worried about _Azkaban_ if they ever get you throw there. Merlin knows you'll probably try to teach the Dementors how to _dance_… And not even a _proper_ dance like ballet, it'll surely be some street, vulgar dance."

"Watch out Tom. Once you start thinking like me, there's no going back."

"Madness is not contagious." Tom responded promptly, no doubt reciting from a book, but he looked a little unsure.

"You sure bout that?" Charles responded with a smile and a wink. "By the way, where are the girls?"

"Around."

"Around?" Charles asked with some panic.

"Yes. I told them not to go out of the store so they should be here, probably in the children section."

"I'll go look for them." Charles sighed.

-0-


	19. Chapter 19: A matter of point of view

**Chapter 19: A matter of point of view**

_edited: March 16, 2012_

Albus Dumbledore was having a very nice day in the Alley. The air was cold as it hit his face and moved his long red hair back. It would soon snow, but he wasn't bothered by the cold weather. Besides, it gave him an excuse to use his new yellow patterned matching mittens and earmuffs.

He had woken up with the strange need to get out and taste fresh air. The castle had been feeling too oppressive with so many hyperactive teenagers and stressed adults trapped inside because of the snow.

He had taken the first excused offered and had gone to the ministry to help with some unruly toilet sits. After that it had been a simple thing to go to the Alley and infuse some much needed holiday cheer into his uncharacteristically melancholic spirit. And what better way to regain his holiday cheer than by sitting with a hot mug of spiced tea and almond biscuits besides a window while watching people pass?

The street that housed the only mayor shopping district was almost empty. He could walk without stopping and not bump into anyone else. While not surprising for the time of the year, it was also do to the rise in prices that had been going on for the last year. Not many could afford to shop luxuries on the popular street anymore.

The people had been told that it was due to an escaped dragon that had destroyed the warehouse that stored the supplies. But to fear not, since things will soon settle down. Those in power knew it was because of the turbulent times the muggles were living in. But no one in office was suicidal enough to admit their co-dependency on the muggles to a purposely-kept ignorant society.

He only bumped with a distracted young boy of around eight with surprising blue eyes on his way to the ice-cream shop. Before bumping with Albus he had looked oddly preoccupied, Albus had noticed. As if it was possible that his troubles far exceeded that of Albus'.

He sighed morosely. Each year children seemed to get more and more serious. That can't be healthy for the soul. Maybe it was the bad times that had children unsmiling. In his day there had not been a child without a smile or sporting an innocent and playful air.

He entered the ice cream store without much trouble. A quaint little place decorated with an over abundance of holiday propaganda, but more importantly, it was warm and had a big window that overlooked the street. He had been lucky enough to find his favorite cushy chair under the fogged window unoccupied and quickly made his way there after ordering his hot mug of tea, a plate of biscuits and a piece of lemon cake for good luck.

He liked to watch people pass by. Happy, sad, married, single, in-love, with children or mourning a loved one, everyone was different and everyone was the same. They suffered and triumphed, loved and lost. It was always humbling to step back and realize he wasn't alone in his problems. That no matter how much he thought that his situation was unique, his observations have showed him that, at heart, they truly weren't.

In his humble opinion, it was this peculiar hobby he had taken many years back that had enabled him to look at the details just under the surface and be able to be a good judge of character. It started as not wanting to be fooled by outer appearances again but it had transformed into a calming and often times, entertaining, pastime.

"Excuse me sir, sir? Sir, can I…? If you're not doing anything, could you..? _Sir?_" Dumbledore heard a young girl, no older than six, trying to get the attention of the ice cream server to no avail.

Dumbledore knew that the taciturn young man would not serve her because she was female. More than that, she was young and it was common knowledge that the young never had money.

Albus raised his mug to his lips, savoring the rich smell of the hot spicy beverage, and turned to his ear to a conversation between two middle aged witches that was getting louder as they became more engrossed in their gossip.

"People talk, mydear. 'Sides, me sister's a gossiper. Lives down the Alley that one. Yeah, the young one. Never married, poor dear. Anyways knows everythin' concernin' anythin', that one. Sharp as a wit tha one. Tolds her bein' smart would never getsha married but never listened." She did a sad shake of her head and continued on talking about the owner of the robes shop getting married to a girl just out of Hogwarts.

Having no interest in following that particular conversation, Albus turned again to the little girl that by now had expired the shopkeeper's rather limited patience.

"Wha shu want girl? Go, get out. Come back with ye papa." John Clever, a student of his many years back responded with a sneer. He had always been short tempered. That coupled with his lack of skills and lack of family connections had limited his search for jobs to no higher than this.

"But sir!" The girl insisted.

Albus was pretty surprised that the girl continued to plead her case. All girls were taught to be silent, respectful and obedient. Even the most unruly of souls were eventually tamed to be respectable housewives. In severe cases, it was permitted to use spells, potions and mild curses by certified medi-witches for the future benefit of the child.

After all, no man wanted a wife who could not obey orders or an irresponsible mother for their children. Things were quickly changing and maybe in less than a decade girls will have the same rights and job opportunities as boys. It will be a happy day indeed and he hoped to live to see it. He had already made some progress in the Ministry on banning that sort of practice.

"Ye talking back to me, little gurl? Everyone knows little gurls cannot buy in stores, Shoo!"

"I have this!" She explained, waiving a gold coloured quill as a liberation flag. The shopkeeper stopped mid-rant and almost everyone in small, cramped store turned to look at the shinny gold quill.

The girl did not seem to notice all the eyes fixed on her back or the sudden drop of noise. All of her focus was on getting the ice cream she had come for from the shopkeeper. Albus was now glad he had turned to listen to this conversation. Gold quills were very rare indeed, only given by the goblins to prominent families at a high fee. Because of the steeply fee only the heir or patriarch of the family used them. But girls cannot inherit, even if she was the only child of the couple. The title of heir would pass down to a cousin or some other male family member.

"Where ya steal that from? Give it here!" John Clever demanded from behind the counter of ice creams, the vein on his neck making a prominent appearance.

"I did not steal it _sir_, it is mine and I want my ice cream." The '_now'_ was evident in her speech. Her blond curls bounced when she stomped her feet to the floor in righteous indignation at being denied her treat and called a thief on top.

The root of her hair was darker, he noticed. Albus figured that by the time she reached Hogwarts age her hair would be a light brown or a dark blonde. She had on a pink and green polka dot witch robes with green sparkly winter boots.

Albus liked her sense of style very much but was amazed that she had been permitted to wear such colours. Girls were usually only dressed in pastels or black and white ensembles. It appears she came from a very unconventional family in which she has been given many liberties.

"Ye think I'm stupid eh?" John said in fury, spit coming out from his mouth and staining the counter, eyeing the quill with obvious greed.

"Johnny, maboy" the storeowner, a portly man with a receding hairline, intervened, "let the wee girl pay, if it's not her quill it would not work for her but if it is…" The owner let the threat hang in the air.

"Whatsha want?" John asked rudely, his beady little eyes narrowed as if she were already to blame for stealing.

"I want a caramel and chocolate ice-cream, in pink… with swirling sparkles… and cookie crumbs… and a cup of hot chocolate…with cream…and cinnamon." She said after a short period of deliberation. After a pause she added a strained, "Please."

She signed her name, slowly, her small hands clumsily holding the long, thin, feather. Only a short and messy 'Penny' but by now, every customer was holding their breath, waiting for the moment the quill ownership would be confirmed or denied and they could go home and tell their family members and loved ones that they saw a gold quill.

"It says here I'm not allowed to feed you more than one spoon of ice cream or peanuts." The stunned keeper related from a notice that appeared on a parchment with the specifications and limitations that the person had on the account or store.

"I'm not supposed to eat peanuts." She repeated with a nod but her frown seemed to say that she did not like the limitation of one spoon. After getting her order, she looked at all the tables critically. It was actually a pretty curious sight. She would go over to one table, frown and go over to another.

She had rosy plumb cheeks meaning she was well fed and warm. That may no mean much to many people but with the decline in economy a lot of previously wealthy families have ended on the streets or looking thinner than before.

If the gold quill was any indication she came from a _very_ wealthy family. Her accent was English but he knew all of the wealthy English wizarding families from his work in the Ministry and had never seen her before. He was sure he would remember people as odd as to permit a little girl to behave as a boy and dress in flamboyant colours. He had to wait until he had a respectable job to start wearing purple without the public burning him at the stake.

She finally chose one close to him and sat, taking out a set of coloured quills and paper out of a bag that from his short look seemed to contain anything and everything one might wish for at a moments notice, and devoured the iced treat and hot beverage with only minimal spill, a miracle for one so young.

"Did ya hear about them squibs?" The young witch with a baby from the table directly in front of him asked her companion, an older woman.

"About time it happened. Those no good crooks were just occupying jobs from proper wizards." The older one responded with a sniff.

"Think it's sad, is all. How will those sixteen squibs take care of their bills? Harsh weather to be out on the street."

"All of them are criminals, dear. Minister Nott did alright with the law that prohibited them from working in wirzading jobs. Best leave them jobs to tax-paying husbands and them were they belong, with the muggle filth."

Albus was prepared to pay for his tea and leave when the little girl from his right did a most peculiar thing. Albus had seen when she had accidentally pushed her empty cup with her elbow but the surprising thing was that she had magically stopped it mid-fall.

Accidental magic was not an uncommon sight. But watching her levitate it back to her hands with a pleased -but not surprised- smile and the panicked look around to see if anyone watched was telling. Very telling indeed. There was no such thing as _controlled _accidental magic and he was suitably intrigued.

"Hi, sweetheart may I sit here with you?" He put his most benevolent smile but was regarded only with open suspicion. She looked at his brilliantly coloured robes and asked seriously, "Are you real or imaginary?"

"What a peculiar question to ask mydear. But I think I'll answer with: I'm real until I'm proven without a doubt that I'm not." He nodded to himself. It seemed a reasonable answer.

His answer did not seem to surprise her. Apparently imaginary strangers always seem to think they are real too. "I'm not allowed to talk to real strangers." She said and went back to her drawing.

"What about imaginary strangers?" He couldn't help but ask with a smile.

"Not anymore." She said with a sad shake of her head, "Charles worries too much when he can't see who I'm talkin' too." Her eyes and body language seemed to be saying _'Isn't that silly! But oh, well'_

"Ah. That makes sense." People do tend to regard those who talk by themselves with a certain degree of apprehension.

"May I sit here?" He asked again.

She thought about it and said, "I guess so… but I'm not allowed to talk to you."

"I'll just sit here and hum then." He hummed away for a few seconds, a charming song about a beetle and a bee, until he remembered something, "Charles? You mean Charles Winter?" He asked curiously.

"Who else?" She asked with a frown. She had nice teal coulored eyes, he noticed.

"Is he your father?" He inquired. He of course had heard from his fellow teachers rumors of a prodigy boy named Charles Winter but had dismissed them as over-exaggerated rumors.

"No silly! He's my brother." She seemed to think that Dumbledore was the silliest thing to come around since dancing pineapples.

"Right, right, a boy of seven or eight?" He asked to confirm.

"Don't you know nothin'?" She asked, but seemed to enjoy having more information than he, "His eight birthday was _ages_ ago." Four months counted as ages when one was six. "But I'm not talkin' to you." She declared in a singsong voice, even if she was having fun talking to the funny redheaded old man with the funny robe.

"No, no, of course not." He assured her profusely, "But out of curiosity did he taught you that nifty trick with the cup?"

She tensed immediately; it was like she'd been hit with a full body bind. Hmmm, curious reaction that. Very curious indeed.

"I did nothin' with no cup." Her shifty eyes would have ousted her as a liar to even the most dense of people.

"Ah, that's ok. I wont tell anyone." He placated her, "Say what's your name?" He changed subjects.

"Really?" She smiled a toothy smile, showing a few missing baby teeth "My name is Penelope Winter." There was a certain pride in the way she said it. Maybe it was imitating the way her older family members talked when asked about the family.

"That's a very pretty name. Only Penelope?" At her nod he continued, "My mother had a slight penchant for names, I'm afraid, and thus I ended with enough to give out to my enemies." He smiled, "Very thoughtful of her but one is more than necessary, don't you agree?"

"You are weird. But I like you, I think. What's your name?"

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, a pleasure Lady Winter." He said with more formality than the situation warrantied, even going as far as tipping his hat. But it did the job and she relaxed and even giggled.

Her eyes bugged and her mouth felled open in astonishment. "Wow," she breathed.

"Can you do that again Penelope? The trick with the cup?" He tried again now that she wasn't actively thinking about 'the rules'.

"I'm not allowed to talk to strangers 'bout magic." She stated once more with force.

"I wont tell anyone, I promise." He said in a conspiratorial whisper that usually worked with small children and small-minded adults.

"I'm not allowed." She repeated firmly. Her eyes traveling to the front door every few seconds as if afraid of getting caught.

"That's all right. Another time maybe. How about a sweet?" He said, offering one of the untouched biscuits on his plate.

"I'm not allowed to take sweets from strangers." She looked angry with him, but Albus figured that she was probably angry about all the restrictions put on her.

What _do_ they allow her? Why foster so much suspicion on a little girl?

Still…maybe if _his_ sister had been taught to be more wary of strangers maybe what happened to her wouldn't have happened. _Don't think that_, he admonished himself. There was no point in indulging in what if's.

"Where are your parents?" He asked, more to shake the unwanted thoughts than to hear the answer.

"They'll be here soon." Her curt answer made him look up from the biscuit he was destroying with his long fingers. She had completely closed herself off and was regarding him with open suspicion and wariness.

"There you are!" Another boy interrupted in a furious voice. He looked to be around eight, with dark wavy hair and handsome semblance. "Come, before I tell Charles you were talking with a stranger and taking sweets from him."

It appeared he was not the infamous 'Charles' then, but someone who also knew him. Like the girl he had high quality clothes but his were a more conventional black and navy blue with a gold brooch holding the robe close.

"I was not!" She squealed, looking distressed. He took her by the arm and dragged her, rather forcibly, to another table. Albus was pretty sure he was bruising her arm. The title of book he was holding on his unoccupied hand was very worrying. Maybe he should wait for his parents to arrive and explain the dangers of allowing small children access to dangerous information.

Even if he really should get going. He had been out of the castle for more time than he had meant to but he was curious to see with his own eyes this 'Charles' character _and_ it would be irresponsible of him as an educator to not inform a parent about the risks in allowing Dark books in the hands of young impressionable children.

A few more minutes will not hurt anyone, he reasoned to himself. It might even do a lot of good to that young boy.

The unusual pair of children kept bickering. They didn't look like siblings even if they fought like brothers would. Their faces were too different. While her face was heart shaped and plumb his was angular and sharp. She had freckles and he did not. She had plumb lips while he had thin lips. His eyes were penetrating and cold while hers shone with feelings.

The boy clearly needed close watching. Albus could tell he was an aggressive, cold and manipulative child just after a few minutes of observing him. He lacked any true care for the girl. Only interested in her because his _lack _of interest might get him in trouble. When added to what he was interested in reading before even entering Hogwarts, made Albus very worried about the type of man he will grow up to be.

He was interrupted from his musings when his old time friend, Jim Ross, entered accompanied by his daughter Isobel, her muggle husband Reverend Robert McGonagall and their three children, Minerva, Malcolm and Robert Junior.

Jim Ross was a pureblood that attended school with Albus and had a hard time accepting his daughter's poor choice in husband at first but his love for his precious daughter had won in the end and now he was happily dotting on his three grandchildren.

The three children were magical, much to their grandfather's delight, and Albus expected that the three would be as smart and talented as their beautiful mother and as kind and good-hearted as their father and grandfather.

They approached Albus, greeting him warmly and exchanging the common and expected pleasantries for a few minutes. When he looked back at the table that had previously held his attention two more children had added their number. They seemed like a group of well-known friends with their easy banter and hushed private conversation. Albus did not think them blood-related or at least not closely related, maybe cousins, or the children of close family friends.

When Isobel saw where his attention had strayed she sent her three children to play with the other kids with a fond smile. They both now had a valid excuse to watch the table. Not that anyone in the establishment needed an excuse to watch them. They were handsome children and as so eyes always followed them, some with better intentions than others.

They couldn't hear the majority of the conversation, just bits and pieces when the crowd went silent but Albus concentrated on their body language. The blue-eyed boy he had stumbled on earlier greeted the newcomers with a hesitant but welcoming smile. Albus had the suspicion he was a squib since he hadn't detected any magic from him when they bumped, but that was neither here nor there.

The other children and the Winter girl reacted very differently at the sudden intrusion of two hyperactive boys and a quiet girl to their group.

He was amused to see that the previously charming Penelope was suddenly very possessive and territorial over the blue-eyed boy. She sat on his lap with her small arms around the boy's neck and glaring. Clearly saying _'He's mine!'_ to the incomers. The other boy, the one that had manhandled Penelope, looked annoyed but the blonde beauty smiled, clearly overjoyed at the added company.

He continued to talk to Jim about the sudden rise in food prices and how this would affect the school when a commotion brought his attention back to the table.

Malcolm had tripped over his shoelaces and the flaying motions of his hands had sent flying a half filled cup of ice cream to the dark haired boy, staining his black and navy tailored robe. The dark haired boy stared at his stained robes for a few seconds before raising his hand to strike Malcolm. However, he never got the chance to strike him.

The blue-eyed boy had stopped his hand mid-flight by grabbing his wrist. They locked eyes and waged a silent battle. If their tense arm muscles were any indication they were both exerting force in different directions but neither hand moved an inch. After a tense minute the blue-eyed boy seemed to have won the silent battle and they both dropped their hands in a coordinated movement.

The dark haired boy turned to Malcolm and uttered a terse and insincere apology for raising his hand. Albus noticed that he had a red handprint on his wrist where the other boy had held him. The tension dissolved quickly with something the tall blonde girl said. At which the blue-eyed boy threw her a grateful smile and she winked back. The group of seven continued together for a few minutes but it wasn't meant to be so.

Said blue-eyed boy had enchanted Minerva and Malcolm with his good looks and charming personality quickly enough but Penelope and the dark haired boy he learned was named Tom were too possessive of him to let a red-faced Minerva or an uncharacteristically subdued Malcolm talk to him for more than a few seconds without interrupting.

Robert Junior was busy drooling over the beautiful girl and had even agreed to play dolls with her. Albus was sure that the boy hadn't even looked at his hand to see what he was holding. Albus heard the name Charles repeatedly and connected it to the blue-eyed boy.

Well, that answered his question. The rumors had been over exaggerated. This boy was practically a squib; Albus would be surprised if he even received a Hogwarts letter. Now that his curiosity had been satisfied he really must be going. He could talk to the parents of the dark haired boy once their Hogwarts letter arrived in a few years. He was probably over worrying; boys of eight rarely knew how to read.

As he made his farewells to Jim Ross, his lovely daughter Isobel and her muggle husband he heard an insisting buzzing sound. In a matter of seconds the buzzing turned into a high pitched whistling. The last thing he heard was a child's voice screaming 'Get down!' before everything exploded and he knew no more.

-o-

Albus woke up with the feeling that a giant had sat on his chest and had repeatedly jumped like an overexcited toddler. A rain of debris and sand was falling on top of him, blurring his view to the rest of the establishment. When he finally identified where he was he realized that he had been pushed to the back of the store by the explosion and lay crumpled on the ground amidst rubble and blood. Thankfully nothing had fallen on top of him. He shakily got up and started moving the chairs and tables that blocked his passage to the front of the store. He had to use the walls as support because he ears had been damaged in the explosion and his sense of balance was off. His legs were also shaking and he had the urge to vomit.

The whole front side had collapsed and the only light was coming from what had formerly been the ceiling. He had no idea what happened to the second story of the building. He quickly moved besides a bloodied but otherwise unharmed Jim that was besides a small lump of bloody meat. After a few dizzying seconds he realized that that bloody lump of meat had Malcolm's clothes. Or what was left of his clothes.

It took him a few more minutes for him to understand that Jim was keeping him in what appeared to be a sterile bubble and a magical coma. The boy inside was practically unrecognizable as a human being, much less the handsome lively boy he had seen 'a few minutes ago'. He couldn't hear Isobel's sobs but could see her ash covered shaking figure kneeling to the side of her second son. Minerva and Robert seemed shaken but unharmed beyond broken bones and scrapes.

Minimal injuries when compared to their brother. He didn't see where their father was or the rest of the store's occupants but his mind was already on other matters.

_What had happened?_ Seemed to be the main question but his current inability to hear made asking pointless. He was also not sure he could make his jaw work. His face felt oddly tense and frozen, his throat and mouth dry.

Minerva locked her shocked and terrified eyes with him and Albus did not waste the opportunity to see what she had seen. The memory started much as it had started for him, a buzzing sound followed by an insistent whistling and _Charles'_ shout to get down.

A hand had forcefully shoved her under the table. _It was probably that what had saved her from the initial blast_, Albus mussed _and the one he had taken the full brunt_. Blast after blast kept coming, the ground trembled, the walls crumbled and it seemed that those closest to the front suffered more.

'_There had been a baby! Where's the baby?' _Minerva's thought sounded frenetic in the memory before nothing. The memory went black for a few seconds. She had been hit in the head by falling debris or knocked unconscious by the blast.

When she came about again her mind wasn't as clear so her memory was fuzzy. Minerva saw an archway through blurry eyes and on the other side of the archway saw a clearing full of white clean snow and heard what she thought was the bark of a dog. Instinctively, as a child raised in magic, she knew that was a way out.

Her mind screamed '_Please save me or at least take my brothers. Please. Please save us'_ her thoughts begged but her mouth couldn't make the words. Two pairs of black boots crossed and after a pair of green sparkly boots crossed to the other side, the archway disappeared.

She saw her grandfather talking with Charles. Her eyes closed, too heavy to keep open. When she opened them again Charles was holding a wand. Her head dropped. A pretty purple light and then her brother's horrified scream penetrated her fogged mind. When she came to her brother was mutilated and Charles and his siblings' had left.

Albus felt something very heavy settle in his stomach. In what felt like a few minutes but was probably longer Aurors and medi-witches got them out of the destroyed building and into the overcrowded and ill-equipped magical hospital. Albus tried to move away so he could find out what had happened in the Alley but the medi-witch insisted he was in shock. He relented to her administrations only because his chest _did_ look a little caved in and he _was_ having some trouble breathing.

To his surprise when asked Jim lied to the authorities on what happened to Malcolm and Isobel did not press charges against Charles Winter. Albus assumed they were afraid of reprisals. There was no limit to what a boy capable of that kind of unprovoked brutality and torture was capable of doing when incited. But Albus still felt that Charles Winter needed to be punished so that he may have a chance to see the wrong of his ways.

Hours later he found out that a Dark wizard had shattered the primary wards of Diagon Alley. Few knew that all the buildings were anchored to the primary wards. It was the reason second story buildings could be built. He had no idea how muggles manage to build tall buildings but magic held the buildings in the magical world.

He had a hunch on who was this rogue wizard was, a certain old friend and lover, but had kept his opinions to himself since he had no evidence. It had been said that he, who he assumed was Gellert, was looking for someone. But no one knew whom. Albus tried not to let the thought that he had been left behind, forgotten, in a pile of rubble bother him.

For some reason he had always imagined that when something like this happened, an attack on his hometown, he would be at the front lines, fighting in the name of good. Not left behind in the ruins of a building with severe injuries…just like everyone else.

He quickly stopped that depressing line of thought. Now was the moment of action. He had to discover what had happened today and who was involved. Not wallow on self-pity.


	20. Chapter 20: Social hierarchy

**Title: Old Souls**

**Rated: T/M**

**Disclaimer: Not mine...**

**Chapter 20: Social hierarchy**

"Dammit Abby, I told you not to go anywhere alone and to leave Penny alone…you do remember she is _five_, right?" Charles said after he had gotten over the overwhelming and dizzying relief of finding his sister safe and sound in a small clothing boutique down the Alley in a hidden corner.

Normally he would have never noticed the small corner store with the horrible pink sign but he had recognized Abigael's long wavy hair from the window that overlooked the street, coupled with the stylish hat she had chosen to wear that day and there had been no doubt in his mind that it was his sister. She was noticeable, even if the store was not.

When he arrived at the small quaint boutique with French décor she had already purchased five bags. After he informed the only two other people on the store, the owner, a stylish 30-something man and his young just-out-of-Hogwarts assistant, that he was the one who was going to pay he had been told that 'the rest' was to be owl-delivered after being altered to her specifications. Charles did not ask what might 'the rest' be; he was pretty sure he would not like the answer.

Charles had signed his name on the bill with the special quill from Gringotts. It was a bit showy and tacky in his opinion but it meant that they didn't have to carry pouches of _gold_ on their person. Muggle robbers were simply not interested in feathers, gold or otherwise. He, _inwardly_, cringed at the number but otherwise made no objection.

The owner and his young perky assistant had looked way too happy for his own taste but they had treated Abby as their queen and had gone out of their way to please her, so that counted in their favor and made him more willing to pay for their 'unique, one of a kind, made in Paris' extravagant pieces with matching extravagant prices.

"Nothing bad happened and she _promised_ to sit and stay on the iced parlor." Abigael tried to reason as she heaped more pink bags and boxes with bows into his arms. She only kept the smallest of them, while he could barely see the street in front of him, but that was Abby. He saw boy's clothes in a box that was partially opened and groaned.

He can just imagine she used the opportunity to buy a rainbow of colours he and Tom would never wear, use or like. On the other hand, changing colours was not something out of his reach and it meant he didn't have to shop for clothes in a good while. It might cause a fight with Abby and the cold shoulder for a week…_but no shopping_. The thought was tempting. He looked at his sister and calculated how mad she'll be if he changes the colours of all the clothes she spent time and care to pick out and decided he'll risk it. Furious, there was no doubt. He would not be surprised if she snubbed him for a month.

But he can endure his sister's tantrums if it meant no more ridiculously long hours of shopping with obnoxious attendants that insist on telling him how 'cute and adorable' he was, in a pathetically high pitch voice that damaged the ear canal. Or how his 'pout' was endearing when he was glaring daggers at the woman and wishing her death.

If he bullied Abby into learning math and fighting it was nothing compared to the grief she gave him daily about his clothes and over all appearance. It had gotten worse since she started attending the trice damned Etiquette classes with the god awful English Lady that worships the ground the King walks upon. Which was not that important and not even her most annoying quality if she didn't constantly put horrible ideas to his sister's mind about marriage, duty, clothes and _forks_.

If he has to hear one more stupid, insipid, brainless girl talking about their dreams of marrying into royalty when he picks her up in central London he swears is going to pull Abby from that class and risk his sister's fury.

He doesn't mention the ghastly amount of money she just spent since they rarely spend on something outside the necessities and they had more than enough. More importantly, she _deserves_ some compensation for all the work she helps him with on a daily basis that, for the most part, goes unacknowledged.

Feeding the chickens early in the morning before her first class, tending to the vegetable garden, making soap -even if it meant dealing with grease- making the much needed candle wax and bread dough and those were just a few of the many chores she did without complain. Or much complain.

He really couldn't begrudge her spending a little more than necessary on clothes. He has worked hard for money but she worked just as hard, if not harder, for the rest and is in no danger to being spoiled or losing the value of responsibility. To the contrary, Charles sometimes worries that they were all growing up too fast and had recently been working to try to 'normalize' their lives. Or at least, lessen the bag of responsibilities they all carried.

House Elves had been the first step. To their collective gratefulness and relief, the House Elves had taken most of the burden of taking care of the house, the food and the pets on their tiny, underfed, green shoulders leaving them more time and space for their studies. He mostly doesn't feel bad about it either, Elves as Rome and Dinosaurs had their time, and he just hopes that humans don't add to that list.

Periods come and go where one species is more dominant than the rest. Is now our time to fight for the right of survival. And they are not dead like we will be, they just found other ways of surviving and adapting. The happiness they have for serving does not come from any forced magic wizards have on them. It comes from evolution; the elves that survived were the ones that wizards could learn to live with them. The proud, angry or dangerous elves died because no wizard wanted them close enough for them to be able to survive off the excess magic. The happy, serviceable and loyal elves lived and had children that they taught to be happy, serviceable and loyal. Fast forward a few centuries and you have House Elves. He cannot go against that any more than he can go against human evolution.

The second step had been to set semi-private classes with other children so that they can learn basic social interactions, arts and language. If that left him alone in the house to plot and plan well, it couldn't be helped. He would have liked to go with them to get used to children his age but he had too much things he needed to do.

Eventually he will have to learn to interact with children his own age, Tom and Abraxas did not count, they are not what one would call 'normal', and not rely on memory –memory that has slowly become inaccessible as he blocks more and more of it to retain his sanity and personality- but that can wait until later. After getting rid of Not-Gellert, saving his parents and certainly after he has a solution to the whole 'the universe will end' dilemma. Maybe.

Dealing with people his own age and successfully passing as a kid shouldn't be harder than saving the world. At least he hopes not. The positive part is that if he is not successful and there is no matter left in the Universe there will be no need to learn how to socialize.

One always has to keep the positives in mind.

"That's not the point. It was irresponsible. The only reason I allowed you all to accompany me was under the promise that you'd stick together." Charles responded as they crossed the almost vacant street. In a lower voice he added, "You know we are not safe."

"Look! There's Penny and Tom," Abby said and ran inside the ice-cream parlor leaving Charles mid-rant, on the street, with his arms full of bags and boxes.

He sighed, adjusted the packages on his arms and followed her. From the condensed window he could just make out Tom and Penny siting on a table with mugs and plates around them.

He awkwardly opened the door with a kick and held it open with his back while trying to hold the sneeze in from the change of temperature least he dropped all of the bags. He awkwardly shuffled inside and dropped the packages on the floor besides Penny's bag, took off his generic black winter coat, the same one he had bought in the second hand store, it was looking tattered along the edges and left his wrists uncovered but it was fine enough, threw his black gloves and winter hat on top of the table and sat.

Abby made a sound of distaste at his old and worn clothes and hat messed up hair. He ignored her with the practice ease of a professional –or a brother- and continued with his tirade to now include Tom.

"Tom I expected better from you." This, of course, would have been a serious conversation if his hair had not been half upright in spikes and half still in the shape of the hat. From the corner of his eye he saw Abby's spidery hands reach across the table to flat his hair. He moved his head out of her reach and gave her a half-hearted glare that she met head on, unimpressed, as only an older sister can do.

"Then we are even," Tom said, interrupting their silent glare competition for hair rights. At Charles incredulous stare, Tom sighed dramatically and explained, "You let your ruddy owl eat my pet snake," Tom accused, with just enough glint in his eyes to convince a werewolf that his duty in life was to drink from a silver chalice.

Charles flushed deep red from a combination of anger and guilt; Abby groaned and Penny muttered "Not again…" before distracting herself with the food on the table.

"You are comparing disregarding every safety rule ever invented to that bloody snake you were complaining about _non-stop_ for months?" After a pause he continued, "And I told you it was not my fault! It's not as if I can control what the damned bird does. It's a bird, it eats snakes, and your snake was hibernating in an obvious hiding place. It was _not_ my fault!"

Tom decided to ignore the part about complaining about the snake since it was true. He had gotten pretty tired of the damn thing always yammering about. To the point of thinking his 'gift' of talking to snakes to be the most pointless thing in the world.

It was not of course; anything and everything about his magical gifts was perfect, faultless and to be revered. Regardless, he did not care to listen to pointless blabbering. He got enough of that with Abigael and Penelope to last him a lifetime. If Charles would only let him breed magical snakes that would, not only be smarter, but more dangerous than common snakes… But alas, Charles had yet to see reason.

He opened his mouth to give a retort that would surely not only rile Charles but also make him furious but was rudely cut off by Abby.

"Can we please, please, not fight? Let's enjoy a few minutes together in the Alley like we used to, please?" She said in a particularly soft voice that Tom hated but made Charles crumble each and every time and today was no different. That, and referring to happiness in past tense was a particular combination that always made Charles pause and ultimately relent.

From what Tom understood, Charles felt some misplaced feeling of guilt that he was to fault for the ruined familial bliss. Abigael indirectly or directly, knowingly or unknowingly, mentioning their current state of living alone, working more, playing less, being less happy or having responsibilities' that she could not understand nor hope to comprehend was the equivalent of piercing Charles' heart with a dagger, twisting it and leaving a festering wound. Sometimes it gave Charles nightmares weeks after the careless comment and that was the reason that Tom glared at her.

Charles closed his mouth with a snap, yielding to her wishes of no more fighting but glared at Tom in a '_we haven't finish this_' way and Tom glared back with an '_I'm right and you know it so drop it'_.

Even if Tom usually didn't like their interference, he didn't know what will happen when Abigael or Penelope were not there to act as buffers on their fights anymore. He had a feeling Hogwarts will not survive. Sure, when they got along, it was brilliant; they were best friends for life, brothers and stuck to each other like lice to a dog. They played, studied and generally wrecked havoc together –when Charles wasn't obsessing on a project- but when they fought… it was Bad. It was bad for them, bad for the bystanders and bad the environment. Depending on the fight, on the day and on their overall mood, it usually took them from a few hours to weeks for them to talk to each other civilly again and the cycle to commence once again.

"Charles! Tom took the last cup of hot pumpkin juice. You said I could have pumpkin juice!" Penny whined, glaring daggers at Tom when Charles wasn't looking and looking piteously when he was.

"Maybe Tom could share with you."

Charles that had been previously busy looking at the books Tom had bought, looked at Tom pleadingly, hoping not to start another argument, to which Tom pointedly looked back and licked the whole mouth of the ceramic cup, leaving thick trails of saliva behind and then handed it back to Penny.

"Eew! Gross! Charles do somethin'!"

"Why don't you order more? I'd like one too." Charles told her in a mild voice.

"Don't be such a baby." Tom mocked, knowing that Penny hated, absolutely hated, to be called on her age.

"You are mean, stupid and ugly and I don't like you." Penny said with tears in her eyes

Tom threw her a handful of peanuts at her face and shouted, "_Die!_"

Penny's eyes opened like saucers and she looked at the peanuts on her lap as if they were bullets or toxic waste and the watery look she sent Tom was one of deep betrayal.

Charles rested his forehead on the pastel pink table and counted back from ten a few times_,_ changing languages in each count to distract himself.

He looked at Abby helplessly and they both shared a look and shake of their heads. Between them things were so easy, so simple…so _peaceful_. With an isolated childhood in the middle of nowhere he hadn't been conscious of how _extremely_ lucky he had been to be blessed with his sister as his only company. God knows that he and Tom would have ended up with a lot of broken bones and scars. Loving each other, probably, but only grudgingly so.

"Tom, apologize."

The owl had looked more repentant after mangling and killing the snake than Tom when repeating the apology. But he did wince at the disappointed look from Abby.

Small steps.

Abby turned and consoled Penny and after the child had calmed she asked about her painting lessons and the six year-old happily went on in a extremely long and exceptionally detailed monologue about everything, anything and nothing at the same time without pausing for breath. Charles would have tuned her out in five minutes, just nodding and smiling at the correct intervals; Tom would have cursed her silent and waited patiently to receive his punishment without regret. But not Abby, she listened to every detail and gave her sole focus to the child as if every word was important to her. Reason why he loved her so and would defend for her with all he had. _And never got over her death the first time around, _his mind reminded him.

"Can you stop picking fights for a minute?" Charles asked Tom with an exasperated glare. Tom's behavior wasn't particularly earth shattering. He usually behaved like a total prat at least once a day and Penny was his usual victim. But even this was a bit extreme. At least, the fact that he was doing it in front of an audience was different.

Tom usually avoided punishments since they tended to take time from his obsession of the week. Some weeks he obsessed about trains, another he might obsess about clouds, sometimes about a particular branch of magic. It was never the same thing and it was difficult to predict what might catch his fancy. But when it did he pursued the topic until exhaustion, with a relentlessness that was both admirable and worrying.

Hiding or limiting information or even worse, outright forbidding Tom from pursuing a subject only made him obsess all the more. The harder you try to keep the information from him the more intense his obsession grows and the longer it stays. So Charles had decided early on to let him grow tired of a subject on his own, because eventually they all tire him and to answer as truthful and as completely as he could.

"It's not my fault she is such a baby." Tom said acidly.

"What's wrong?" Charles asked instead of giving in to the impulse of snapping at him. After so many fights he knew something was behind this and guessing was just pointless. It could be anything under the sun and completely unrelated to the argument.

As Charles waited patiently for an answer from a sullen and petulant looking Tom he tried to avoid shaking his shoulders or giving any sort of discomfort at having so many eyes on his back. Shaking his shoulders will not shake the stares off, no matter what his body may be insisting on, so he resisted the impulse. If he started being uncomfortable his sister would notice and start being uncomfortable herself with the attention but if he ignored it she would too.

"You wont forget that I messed up today so if I'm going to be punished anyway…" He shrugged.

Charles nodded; of course he wasn't going to forget that the three of them disobeyed every single rule and ran around the Alley as if it was a play park with no thought about safety or dangers lurking about. _So not a lie, but still not the truth._

"Now, tell me what's _really_ wrong."

Tom fidgeted, looked at the floor, then at the window, the ceiling and then at Charles with a deeply worried look. In a quiet voice that Charles almost didn't hear over the hubbub of the store he said, "I can't feel your magic."

"Is that all?" Charles asked to clarify with a frown.

"What do you mean '_is that all'_? I can't _feel _you. At all. Is like you're not even there. Did I lose my ability to sense you or did the Goblins took your magic?" He asked worriedly. "I could feel you this morning just fine."

"The goblins did not take my magic. I'm just…I just don't want to be noticed, is all." Tom looked at him with profound disbelief but slowly nodded.

Incarcerating magic so that it's unnoticeable was extremely unconformable, to the point that few could maintain it for more than a few seconds and no one wanted to repeat the experience. And to someone as magically sensible as Tom, suddenly being unable to detect magic as familiar to him as his own must have been disconcerting. Parallel to someone waking up and suddenly not being able to see or hear a particular person. Tom still touched his hand as to confirm that he had truly not lost his power.

"What happened with the goblins?" Tom asked instead. Charles waited until the girls were consumed with talking about the dance recital that was coming up soon to answer and Tom waited patiently, or as patiently as he could, without taking his eyes off Charles.

Charles rubbed his eyes tiredly and to Tom he seemed to age a century in the seconds it took for his blue eyes to focus again on his dark ones. "The ritual had unexpected side-effects."

"You said you knew the effects of the ritual." Tom reminded him with an edge, not liking were this was going.

"It's complicated and unpredictable magic." Charles said with a grimace, trying to downplay the seriousness of not knowing the effects of a dark ancient ritual.

"You said you knew how the ritual worked."

"I knew the overall effects, yes, but not the particulars. I knew it was a protection ritual. I just did not know exactly _how_ it would protect. It's always different form ritual to ritual. How long it protects and how it protects is always different for each person. It could protect by giving those who want to harm you extremely bad luck, or it could give you good luck, it has also been known to create magical or physical shields, permit the opening of portals, that sort of thing."

"And what exactly does the ritual has to do with the goblins?" Tom asked cautiously.

"It created an effect similar to that of the Fideleus charm on the house."

"Charles?"

"Yeah?" Charles asked looking up at Tom from the napkin he was destroying in his hands.

"That means nothing to me."

Charles expelled all the air in his lungs, nodded and tried to explain better, "Well, remember when we were studying Soul Magic for the ritual." He said in a whisper, sound barely leaving his mouth, his face inches from Tom's and to anyone else they looked to be absorbed in a staring game. Charles face blocked from view. Tom nodded slowly.

"Well," Charles continued, "the Fideleus charm is also Soul Magic, small Soul Magic, not enough to do any serious damage, but Soul Magic nonetheless. It hides a specific piece of information in the soul of a person and that information will be inaccessible to anyone the person doesn't directly tell them. When the address to our cottage suddenly vanished from whatever high security place they were hidden in, an alarm sounded, someone checked and then assumed we had a Fideleus charm done on the place since that would explain the missing address. Since the family had not been granted permission from the ministry, opened a case. Apparently they were well on their way to be granted the go-ahead from the Law department to make a formal investigation and take us to court before the Goblins intervened. The Goblin Nation used the information to strike a bargain with me, they were interested in my investment technics and my… _bragging_… -never brag Tom, it brings more trouble than its worth- led to incorrect assumptions they wanted to clear up. And I was interested in not going to jail. I will work for the Goblin Nation, not Gringotts the wizarding bank, but directly with the Goblins, in investment. I do gain a percentage from my winnings which is nice and all but we lost our 'Pureblood' status which is inconvenient." Charles explained all in one big go hoping, in vain, that Tom doesn't pock and prod him for more information until exhaustion.

"What does it mean, exactly, that we are not considered purebloods anymore?" Tom asked thoughtfully. Charles nodded; it was a valid question and he losses nothing with answering in full.

Charles took one of the chunky, children's coloured quills from Penny and drew a pyramid on a clean piece of napkin, one of the few that survived his earlier destruction.

"Rich Purebloods are the top of the hierarchy. They literately can get away with murder. They are the cream of the crop, everyone aspires to be like them, be invited to all their insipid, boring and pointless social functions." Charles made a waving motion, his equivalent of 'and all that bollock' when they were in public. "They have the high paying jobs in the Ministry and basically control the laws. Malfoy's and Notts are a good example. Mr. Nott is currently the Minister of Magic as you know, so was his father.

Next are the rich Halfbloods. They have power and money but not as much influence or glamor as the Purebloods. We can include here particularly brilliant minds or extremely magically powerful individuals. They sometimes get invited to the high-end events but it depends of the popularity of the individual. After that we have poor Purebloods and poor Halfbloods serving as the middle class. Then we have dirt, worms, vomit and then Muggleborns, Squibs and Halfbreeds, in that order. They have no power, no voice but ample of contempt from the rest.

Hogwarts fees are astronomical and they have this joke of a charity that what it does is help maintain the social structure. It has a high interest and you have to pay it within five years of graduating or go to prison. It is, of course, impossible to pay since the only jobs available for that population are the lowest of the low and the pay isn't even enough to feed them.

They, in their desperation, use less than lawful ways of making money. This gives aurors something to do, politicians something to talk about and reinforces the thought that muggleborns and halfbreeds are good for nothing delinquents and do not deserve the kindness and hard earned money of honest wizards. That's basically the social structure in a pinch." He squinted and added, "Ah, and students that don't know how to read or write, mostly from poor families and muggleborns, don't get into Hogwarts. They are not able to read the invitation or write back before the time limit. The unlucky ones that take the letter to the priest, commonly the only person in the village that knows how to read and write, are usually not found alive if a Hogwarts professor decides to go looking." The explanation might seem too harsh for a boy of Tom's age but he at least did not include the sordid details about how slavery and prostitution were not exactly illegal – it depended on your blood. He also did not include the hierarchy of those who lived outside the law or how the other intelligent magical beings, like vampires, fit into all of this.

"Where are we now?" Tom asked, looking at the napkin closely. It had more of Charles' doodles of stick figures than words but he seemed to find it interesting and informing all the same.

He could also trust Tom to only care about how the social structure affects him and not how if affects others, less fortunate than themselves. At least he said 'we'. Small steps, small steps, one block at a time built the pyramids.

"Well, you could be a Halfblood if you take your mother's surname and rich when you reach seventeen and inherit your share of the 'Winter fortune'. The parseltongue thing might be a boost but you should be careful with it. There's as much prejudice as there's adulation. Wizards are a fickle bunch, one day they might adore you for it the other they might burn you at the stake. Since I'm no longer head of the family, you are no longer heir to the family. My 'Uncle' Charles Winter is now head and I got demoted to heir and you to adopted family member. You are brilliant and powerful so I have no doubt that the system will benefit you."

"And you?" He asked quietly, looking up from the napkin with sharp dark eyes.

"I, on the other hand, am a lowly Halfbreed, son of a poor squib and no amount of money or magical power can change that in the unforgiving eyes of society." Charles said with a shrug and an easy smile, he loved his parents and had sort-of made peace with what society will think of him or act around him.

He took one of the sandwiches from the plate someone had ordered before he arrived and took a bite, instantly regretting not asking who ordered it when the explosion of flavors hit his tongue. The horrible combination of strawberry marmalade, pickles and cheese making him almost gag. He desperately looked for a napkin, used the one he had drawn in and spat the huge mouthful he had taken without caring who might see him. A smirking Tom handed him a glass of water and quite casually said, "Penny ordered food."

Penny, of course it had been Penny. Who else could have ordered a sandwich of strawberry marmalade, pickles and cheese? Charles looked to see her happily munching on a sandwich with her hands and face covered in a sticky pink and yellow mess. She missed his horrified look because she was too busy listening to Abby prattle on about what she had purchased.

"What does that mean for you?" Tom asked again when Charles stopped looking in horror at the rest of the mysterious, but very colourful, plates of 'food' on the table. Charles forced himself to stop thinking about what could be the purple and green _sparkly_ blob inside another sandwich and forced himself to answer Tom.

"Let's put it this way, Durmstrang would not have invited me to their school if I was still back home. Hogwarts might accept me since I live in London and know English, how to write and read but I will not be surprised if they do not."

"But you're powerful, surely if anyone can, you could convince them into accepting you."

"Say I send a letter to the Headmaster of Durmstrang asking for a personal meting to plead my case. He would take one look at me, ask me my parentage and escort me out. The son of a squib carpenter with veela ancestry has a snowball's chance in hell of getting in. They would think me too soft, too _feminine_, to survive a day in their school or too much of a distraction for the other students. I might 'corrupt' the boys with my girlish ways or distract the females from their studies. Hogwarts might accept me as a charity case to show to the rest 'how kind and open minded they are' but at the first accusation that I might be 'enchanting' a Pureblood young lady or otherwise using my 'strange veela abilities' they will snap my wand and send me to London faster than I can blink. There are a lot of preconceived notions and prejudice for males of veela descent." He didn't include the 'as well as a good market for girls' but it was a close thing.

"You _feminine_?" Tom snorted, probably remembering one of their more memorable fights, "I can believe corrupting…" The interruption of three kids arriving to their table stopped whatever non-helpful comment Tom might have added, which was perhaps for the better.

-0-

"Charles," Tom called him with wide scared eyes grabbing his arm in a painful grip, "something's wrong," he whispered. At first Charles had absolutely no idea what Tom meant, but then he heard it too. It sounded like the whizzing sound when high pressure ropes break and it _felt_ like the very air was fractioning. Charles eyes widened a second later when the implications of what was happening crashed down on his mind with the strength of a sledgehammer, leaving him breathless with a horrible cold feeling sinking in his gut.

"Get down." He whispered and only Tom heard him the first time, but the second time he screamed it holding Penny from her perch in his lap in a tight embrace and grabbing a still standing Minerva and pushing them both to the floor with the strongest shield he could manage and still extend it to Tom and Abby. A second later the world exploded around them.


	21. Chapter 21: Jim Ross

**Title: Old Souls**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Not now. Not ever.**

**Chapter 21: Jim Ross**

Jim Ross has never been a big believer in divination.

He had been more than mediocre when taking the class at Hogwarts and had no interest in pursuing it after graduating. He and his best friend had even set up a business to sell falsified dreams for those who couldn't remember their dreams and were in desperate need of dreams to decipher for their dream journal. But that had been the extent of his interest in the subject.

He was now on his bed, a few days after the incident, looking at the ceiling and thinking that he should get up. He was alone and the house felt horribly lonely and cold. Or maybe it was he who was feeling horribly lonely and cold. It was hard to tell. After some time analyzing the ceiling he found the strength to get up and face the day.

Today was Malcolm's funeral and he has to meet Isobel early to help with the last minute arrangements.

_The old should not have to bury the young._

He put a pot of water on the fire, waited for the water to boil and dropped a tea bag in the cup. He was off magic for a few days because it could interfere with his healing. He sat down on the dinning table, the same table Malcolm had eaten a few days ago, and tried not to think on the day ahead, which was not that difficult since his mind has been foggy and blank since the incident. After finishing his tea without really tasting it he went upstairs, feeling every one of his years in each step. He looked at his white and gold mourning robes and thought back to the last time he had needed them, his wife's funeral five years ago. He had thought that it would be the last time he would need them. The mourning robes smelled faintly like mold and dust and were a little too tight around his middle but they'll do.

He looked at the old man in the mirror and wondered who that old man was and what happened to the young handsome pureblood that had been Head of the Law Enforcement and on top of the world a 'few' years back.

A wolf padded along the room behind him. He did not think it unusual or worrying. It made perfect sense actually.

He wondered if he should have said yes when the boy with eerie blue eyes asked. But he had been just a boy, no older than his own grandchild. What could he have done to help? It was simply not logical to let a child do magic to his grievously injured grandchild. He had been sure that Healers would be coming soon. It was just a matter of time.

It would have been crazy, illogical, and irresponsible of him to hand over a wand to a child. Crazy… irrational… unreasonable… to expect a child to know how to cure an injury of that magnitude. Even his basic knowledge of healing had not been enough.

A chicken asked him if he shouldn't be getting up now. He ignored it. Chickens were always so pushy and troublesome.

He had never been good at divination. Had received a week's detention and a Troll on the class when his business of selling dreams had been discovered.

Silly things dreams are.

Now he's having silly dreams of blue eyes. Blue as fire eyes.

Because it was illogical, irrational, unreasonable… The Healers will soon be arriving.

-0-

Ross woke up with a start, confused, with a buzzing in his ears and a massive headache. He could almost taste the tea on his mouth and smell mold. He looked around and still failed to understand where he was or what had happened. Something about this felt familiar, as if he had already lived it or like a half forgotten dream.

He tried to swallow but his mouth was painfully dry and only managed to cough. Big coughs that rocked his body and made him dizzy. His whole mouth and lungs felt as if he had swallowed a bag of sand. With some difficulty he pushed the table that was painfully pinching his legs and after a few fail tries, got up, supporting his weight mainly on his left foot and cradling his hand close to his body. His muscles trembled, reminding him that he was quite past his prime. His wand was miraculously still unbroken on his robe pocket.

The first person he found was Isobel, she had been the closest to him when the roof collapsed. He cried in relief when he found her with her eyes open and blinking. She did not seem to be able to hear him but he figured that his raspy calls were not helping either. She looked confused and disoriented and did not seem to notice that a wood splinter was sticking out her back.

Jim's careful examination told him it was a shallow wound, easily taken care of. His heart on the other hand, had trouble believing it and drummed like a humming bird inside his chest, promising a heart attack. He helped her up with much difficulty and they started looking for the children and her husband, in the process helping others out of their traps.

There were many calls for help and wails of pain that seem to come from everywhere and get louder by the second. Dust and smoke blinded the way and made it impossible for him to see more than a few feet. Some parts were blocked by chunks of a collapsed wall or roof and others were inaccessible because of wild, sizzling magic that zapped dangerously at anything that moved in the area. Still he kept going, fear for his family helping him push against his tiredness.

He saw three of the kids he remembers near his grandkids get out from under a table and stared. Something in his brain nagged him but it took him a few seconds to realize what was wrong with what he was seeing. They were completely unharmed. They were not bleeding or scratched or even dirty. Only one looked like he had been in the center of a tornado but otherwise looked unharmed.

He started making his way over there with hope in his heart that the part of the shop his grandkids had been last had been spared. But the rubble made his way slow and difficult. And in good conscious he couldn't stop himself from helping those along his way. Always keeping an eye for his family members.

From out of nowhere a portal opened and his heart sang with hope. He doesn't know who had the power or the resources to open a portal, but the important thing is that they can all get out of here and into the hospital before the wild magic released from the wards starts attacking. Since there was nothing anchoring the wards, everyone counted as an intruder as far as the wards were concerned. He jumped over three feet of fallen concrete and was close enough to hear the conversation the children were having, which in all honesty, was the weirdest he had ever heard. And he has three grandchildren that almost always speak gibberish.

"Take care of them, ok?"

"I'm going to take great care of them just so I can hold it over your head and make you act grateful later."

"How lucky I am to have a friend like you."

"Blessed is what you are. Just…come back."

"Of course. Go now. Bye princess, yes, I'll be there soon enough. Take care of Charles the chicken if you get too lonely. Let the House Elves make the food but don't try to feed them; it makes them nervous. Love you, Abby. Yes, yes, go now. No, don't cry. I'll see you soon, I promise. Go now."

He was almost there. Just a few more steps, a jump and he would reach the portal. He could smell the fresh snow, feel the cold air on his bloody and sweat-damped skin and see a peaceful snow covered valley but as quickly as it appeared, the portal disappeared.

His agonized scream must have been heard because the boy with striking blue eyes turned back and faced him. Blue eyes held his plain brown eyes for a second and then turn to something on the floor and the boy kneeled and went out of Ross' view. Ross doubled his effort to cross the stretch that separated him from where the portal was last and after climbing half a wall he made it.

He stopped and dropped to the floor, his legs finally giving out on him. He covered his heart with his left hand because he felt his heart will fail him soon and his mouth with his right hand to stop the scream that never came. Some horrors were beyond screaming, beyond crying.

"He will die." The boy stated with no infliction on his tone, nothing to betray he felt sadness, or horror, or any feeling at all. The surety of the statement was like a slap to the face and denial quickly rose to his defense. His denial or maybe inability to accept the truth must have been clear in his face because the boy said, "His major organs will start failing soon. His magic will try to keep him alive and protect his brain by sending him into a deep coma, but it will not be enough. Then his magic will become violent, thinking is under attack and reacting negatively to any outside magic; he will be beyond help by then." This too had been said in a matter-of-fact tone and it made shivers run across his back. If the boy had red hair or purple skin, he would never know because all he could see was blue eyes. _Blue as fire eyes._

"I could help him but I'd need your permission and wand."

_No, no, no. He'll be ok. The Healers will come soon. Letting a child hold a wand was dangerous. Crazy… irrational… unreasonable_… _He cannot help. He's just a child._

… _robes that smelled faintly like mold and dust…_ _has to meet Isobel early to help with the last minute arrangements…_

He remembered having a dream but like water escaping his hands he only remembered vague impressions. His intuition was screaming at him to trust the boy with the too-calculating eyes. Without meaning to he was sucked into the boy's thoughts. It only lasted a few seconds, just enough to see an elegant hall full of beautifully dressed people and lots of children dressed in simple white garments.

The fragment of memory didn't hold any meaning by itself, to understand it he would have needed to see the entire memory and maybe have some background information on the place and people. But he had sensed a lot of guilt and regret. For the boy to be thinking about it right now meant that it somehow connected with his grandchild, but he had no idea how. He was no Legimancer, had only heard about such thing maybe once or twice in his entire life and the fact that he could do it now could only mean that the magic in the air was beginning to affect them in unpredictable ways. There was not much time.

He did something stupid. Probably the most irrational thing he has ever done in his life, counting marrying Rose, and passed his wand to the child. He had been Head of the Law Department; he should know better than anyone the dangers of leaving a wand close to a child. He should know that a Master Healer was the only one who had any chance at succeeding. He should know that to expect a child to do a miracle was unreasonable and unfair to the child. But for some reason -a gut feeling, a forgotten dream, an inexplicable hope- instead of taking back his wand he asked, "What are you going to do?"

The boy passed his fingers along the wand, as if inspecting it for flaws and passed it gently along Malcolm's jaw, a few sparks angrily hissed at the wand. "His magic is already becoming violent. Curses are the only thing that will cut through the magical barrier he's creating around himself. There is a curse that could save him but it's brutal, I will not do it without your consent."

"What does it do?" If a child could be calm and rational about this he could be too. He would ignore his trembling heart, constricted chest and jelly legs until this was over and he could stop pretending to be strong.

"It was invented as a torture curse. It keeps the victim alive while destroying everything but the essential and regrows it again. With the amount of damage he has it is probably for the better. If we can get the spikes out of him and his legs out from under the wall while simultaneously encasing him in a sterile, oxygen rich bubble he might survive."

"Side effects?" He rasped, taking a small, black and blue, three-fingered hand on his own and caressing it gently, glad he didn't have any food for his weak stomach to vomit.

"He will have no muscle strength and will need extensive muscle therapy, his immune system will be non-existent and no-one, absolutely no one can wake him from the coma until he naturally comes out from it. Forcing him to wake up before the damage is repaired will cause brain damage. The rest depends on him not getting complications."

"And you are sure you can do it? You can show me and I can do it myself."

"He has ten more minutes before his brain runs out of oxygen, think you can manage successfully on your first try?" The boy said, not critical as he would have expected, only questioning and curious.

"No…no…I have never been a fast learner…" Ross responded faintly. For some reason he thought he should be feeling more panicked than this, but a numb feeling was settling over him, blocking all feeling.

"Then you have two options, trust me or at least take him out of his misery with a quick killing curse."

The strange thing was that Ross knew, with absolute certainty, that if he decided to…something his mind was still not quite able to process, the blue eyed boy will simply nod and cast the killing curse without hesitation or calmly walk away and let Malcolm…_go_.

The body, lean and wiry, told him about an active little boy, one that might run a lot or maybe play Quidditch…but the eyes…the eyes spoke of a warrior and not a _Stupefy_ kind of warrior but the kind that fought to the death or victory. The sensible, adult, thing to do would be to ask for his wand back and let him walk away.

But. But he still tasted tea in his mouth, black and bitter, a faint background to the dust that still did not let him breath properly, "Do it then. Save him, if you can." He was not the ex-Head of Law Department right now; he was a scared and confused grandfather that was seeing his favorite grandson die –mutilated, bleeding to death- while he was powerless to help. He was an old man with his hopes pinned on a boy. A boy that was telling him that he could save his grandson.

Funny thing dreams are, as chaotic as the conscious mind but you never seem to remember more than a few impressions. Broken fragments that once told a story but became no more than a passing thought, condensed into a few words.

_He has never been a big believer of divination magic. _

With movements so fluid, so graceful that Ross could never follow, never hope to imitate and a string of words that sounded like a softly spoken prayer a blue light disappeared all the spears and boulders that had imprisoned and forked Malcolm, followed by a scream of pure anguish, then a red light that stopped the scream and finishing with a brilliant purple light that, for a few seconds, illuminated the ruins with a purple glow.

He was offered back his wand; handle facing him, as it was proper. He dropped it and when he automatically tried to reach it, he felled awkwardly on his side. His hands and legs were failing him when he needed them most, the curse of old age.

Small hands eased his fall and handed him back the wand. He looked up and knew that his face must be showing his desperation, his need, his anguish and his hope. But he couldn't help it no more than rain can help falling. The eyes that starred back at him did not mock his weakness nor did they pity him they held him and gave him back his strength.

"Hold the spell, keep it going and don't let anyone wake him." The mouth, because surely the boy had to have a mouth but his eyes never strayed from the blue to confirm it, "He will not suffer, he will not feel it," The boy assured him, making Ross suspect Legimancy but he still needed to hear it, to believe it.

"Listen to me," the boy called his mind from its wanderings, "look at the runes," he pointed to the runes that littered one side of the bubble that covered Malcolm or what would be Malcolm. "It will tell you his health and when you need to increase or decrease the oxygen. If this one changes to its counterpart it means it needs more magic than what you are supplying and you need to have someone else sustain the spell. Understand?"

No, he did not understand. He did not take runes. He took Divination. And failed. He nodded anyway. His confusion must have been apparent because the boy looked exasperated.

"This one is for the heart, below 70 is bad and more than 130 is bad. The next one simply tells you he is breathing; if a line appears across the S shape it means he stopped breathing and you need to cast a force breathing spell." He did not know a force breathing spell but nodded anyway, "The fourth rune, three lines down, indicates oxygen level, red is more, blue is less. Follow my finger, the one I am pointing, that looks like a 77, tells you if the spell is running out of magic. One hour is the longest any normal wizard can hold the spell, after an hour let someone else feed the spell. Tell the Healers that he was cursed with the Renatus Curse. They will know to leave him be until the curse runs its course and then stop it. The curse is prohibited and it's a one way ticket to Azkaban so tell them you didn't see who cast it."

"I didn't see who cast it." He repeated dumbly.

"All right, I'll be going now."

"You are leaving?" He asked and was not ashamed of the panic and pleading in his voice. He was past that.

"Yes."

"Don't go, please. Don't leave me. I don't know what to do. I still have to find the rest of my family..."

"I'm sorry, I have to run." And he proceeded to do just that. He ran.

"Wait, what's your name?" He screamed after him, but the boy either heard and ignored him or was too far to hear.

He realized, also too late, that he never asked about the portal.

Like a door opening, he remembered the entirety of his dream. He had said 'no', told him to walk away and Malcolm had died. He had no assurance that he would live now, but he had hope.

After almost a century of taking Divination in Hogwarts he finally realized an important truth and the real reason he failed the class. When before Divination seemed to talk about a pre-destined path, in which you have no choice but to walk on, he now knew that you always have a choice. And that it is your choices that form a path not the other way around.

The choice had always been his to make.


	22. Chapter 22: Logical Conclusion

**Title: Old Souls**

**Disclaimer: Still don't own shit**

**Chapter 22: Logical Conclusion **

Charles managed, without much trouble, to get up to the roof of the once two-story building. From there he could appreciate the destruction to its full splendor. The bitter cold air was already moving the enormous cloud of smoke and debris that rose from the street. All the quaint 'leaning' buildings had collapsed, trapping hundreds inside. There had been no architects, no engineers, and no qualified carpenters in their construction and this was the result when the magic that held it together fell apart. The magic that once served as wards was crackling angrily and the air smelled like ozone.

Ten people were noticeable by their lack of fear as they calmly walked the street towards him. He straightened his spine and sent a prayer to whoever had cursed him into this life to help him now. Or to choke on spit and die. Any of them would be received with gratefulness.

He didn't know if to feel flattered that _Not_-Gellert Grindelwald, shorter for possessed Gellert Grindelwald, had felt the need to have nine others to be able to do him in or insulted that he thought that he _only_ needed nine and not an army.

Charles watched them approach from his eagle-eye viewpoint and observed in detail what miss-matched group they were. Two of them were what he would have expected, if he had expected company at all, Caucasians with uniforms with the Hallows sign, a triangle, circle and a line, all superimposed, on their breast. The next three looked more like mercenaries than followers of 'the Greater Good', a big black man Charles would never even think of fighting in a hand-to-hand combat, a tall red-head man with mean looking long swords and all sorts of sharp, steel weapons strapped to his freckled person, the last one of the trio had a red scarf covering his face and the rest of his body covered in ammunition, wands and orbs. The last four were in full wizard combat regalia, pointy hats and all.

He gave a mockery of a smile when he caught their attention. The group stopped as one and looked at him, the only other on the street that was not passed out or dead. They seemed to whisper to each other for a moment and he knew the exact moment when they were told that he was, in fact, their target.

Charles let them have a good look at him and his smiled, if the stretching of his lips could be called a smile, at their incredulous, annoyed, intrigued and angered expressions that _yes_, their target _was_ a child. A small child with big blue eyes, high cheekbones, no taller than five foot, who _clearly_ was not even from a wealthy family if one based their opinions on his generic, black robes and was obviously not even old enough to own a wand. He mocked saluted, bowed and disappeared.

Let the chase begin.

His plan was simple, shake off the extras, get rid of the internal parasite and not get killed.

It might seem like he had no plan at all but he thinks of it as having a lot of space in which to move in. Blind apparition might be difficult or impossible to others but he has always been a 'leap before you look' kind of guy, so this came as second nature.

He only thought of a secluded flat land far away from here and that was exactly were he landed not a second later. The moment his feet touched the ground he started running, within five minutes he heard ten loud 'cracks' and disappeared again. They could follow his trail when he appareted but they needed to leave from the exact same place he left to be able to follow his magical trail. And only strong and magically sensible wizards could even hope to do it.

The fact that all ten did it did not bode well for his long-term plan of existing. He disappeared to four other flat plains, always running in different directions before disappearing again.

The adrenaline, the magical high of doing repeated apparitions and the terror and panic he felt at being the prey was making him feel giddy and dizzy and not in a good way. But the fact that he was doing something, that all the waiting and planning would come to an end today, for better or worse, felt liberating. He heard seven cracks not far from him and appareted away.

He was sure they were getting tired and annoyed of the game but they were still too many. Still too many for him to handle alone and hope to survive. Sadly, today he was not feeling particularly suicidal. With that thought in mind, Charles appeared near a cliff, on the side that was just air and let himself fall. Smiling and screaming his heart out, in both delight and blind terror, he felled and kept falling until he could see the shapes and colors of individual rocks, feel the splash of the salty water on his face and smell rotting odor of dead fish. A few feet from the ground disappeared with a loud 'crack' that scared the birds that were nesting on the shore.

Correction, not that much suicidal.

He appeared next still a few feet on air, with only enough time to conjure a big red ball that bounced him up in the air with less force than the one he had been falling, but still enough to take the air from his lungs and bruise his chest. Still in the air, he disappeared and continued to do the same thing a few times to stop his momentum without killing himself.

When he felt it was safe, he let himself fall with a roll, using the same momentum to stand up and keep running. He looked around and noticed he was on a white pine forest. Snow was falling around the quiet and peaceful terrain. Only small animals making sounds in the winter cold.

Charles walked for some time, too tired to even think about running but knowing he had to walk it off before he could rest.

A while later, still alone on the beautiful terrain, he sat on a fallen tree and waited. He was more tired than he cared to admit but hopefully only Not-Gellert was crazy and determined enough to follow him. He waited, hummed, meditated and sucked all the magic his small body could hold without killing him. And then hummed some more. Maybe the free fall was bit too much? It certainly took the excess off his jitters but his heart still did not intend to forgive him for the near-death experience. If this kind of thing keeps happening he knows he'll die of a heart attack at a young age or develop a steel heart and a rock solid stomach for his efforts.

He was getting a bit cold and inpatient. His heart was still beating like a rabbit's when it sensed a hunter and no amount of half assed meditation could relax him now. Not this close to the fight.

Cracks started sounding, he counted, when he reached six he closed his eyes in resignation. It seemed he was not going to get out of this one alive. He was not adverse to death per se but he was loath to leave his sister alone and their parents to perish in prison. At least she'll live, not like last time…

They were getting up from the ditch he had first landed in but unless they appareted to his side he still had at least half an hour while they looked for the next non-existing magical trail. By now they'll be paranoid as hell, turning rocks, climbing trees and watching out for random –movement, light or sound sensitive- grenades he had left behind in the hopes that they all conveniently die.

"Tilis." He called softly, no louder than the sounds of the chilly winter wind against the trees.

"Yes Master's Master, what can Tilis do to yous sir Master sir?" The house elf said in a horribly loud voice that almost made Charles want to throw him a grenade but, thankfully, it went unheard.

"Can you bring me an apple?"

Silly thing to ask right now but he was feeling ravenous and faint after the mayor use of magic and he feared that anything more than an apple might cause him to barf from nerves. Fainting do to low energy would be inconvenient right now. The elf came back with a green apple not a moment later, not his favorite but it'll do. "Thanks." He whispered.

"Master sir?" Charles hummed to indicate he was listening to the elf and kept his eyes on the six, very dangerous men not too far from him and ate his apple. Tilis shivered and looked around with wide nervous eyes. "Bad things are coming', the trees know it. The wind knows it; air feels too stale. Magic too complicated. Bad things is coming', master should go. _Master should go_. These place no good."

"Thanks for telling me, I'll keep it in mind." Charles said, looking for the first time away from the group and to the elf. "Is there something else?" He asked softly when the House Elf did not leave, just stood there nervously pulling at his hands.

"Missi Penny is feeding the Elves agains." Charles looked at the poor terrified creature with pity; he too knew what it was like to be fed by Penny. He looked back at the six men and looked at the desperate House Elf and said, "Tell you what, you see those six wizards? They are bad wizards and I'm trying to stop them. The faster I stop them the faster I'll make sure Penny stops killing…I mean feeding…the House Elves. If you can help with detaining those five, I'll take the leader and be back as soon as I can. Deal?"

"You stopping miss?" The elf looked so deliriously happy and hopeful that Charles made a mental note of not letting Penny near food again.

"Of course, the faster I finish the faster I'll save you from… food poisoning." He wasn't actually sure what Penny was feeding them that had them so terrified but he'll look into it. If House Elves have similar taste buds as humans he can sympathize, but the way the elf was acting made him think that maybe it was something much more sinister, like nails dipped in Uranium.

"They are very powerful, you have to give it your all. After that go home, I don't want them having a chance to hurt you." The elf trotted away with a litany of 'kind, merciful master' that was, quite frankly, on the disturbing side. Charles pulled down the sleeves of his long black shirt and was grateful he had ignored his sister fashion advice.

The scarf, hat and winter coat had disappeared in the explosion. He'd be freezing had he worn her fashionable but unpractical suggestions. He was not warm per se but not freezing in his confortable and practical clothes. The amount of potions, orbs, ammunition, knives, grenades and all sorts of fun and jolly toys he had on his person would not have been easy to hide in the skintightclothes she wanted him to wear. Seriously, the best clothes are the ones that let you hid the most weapons in and still let you do a back flip comfortably. Light, warm and fireproof were just added bonuses. If it still makes you look normal, it was a masterpiece as far as Charles was concerned.

He took a deep breath, steeled his nerves and walked out of his hidden place at a sedate pace towards the now bound, gaged and disarmed group that were only slightly less dangerous than before. Only Not-Gellert managed to free himself from the Elf Magic in time to greet him. Something he had expected and prepared himself for, the Elder wand was not just a child's dream and he did have a pure magical parasite from another Universe in his soul commanding his body.

"Oh sorry dear chap, was that not allowed?" Charles asked genially. Maintaining the long-standing tradition to treat each other as long-time friends.

"It was certainly unexpected…I thought you had more pride than that. Letting a House Elf fight your battles… what's next? Are you going to stop being reckless? It's like I don't know you." The last was said with all the hurt of a parent realizing they didn't know their child anymore.

Charles shrugged and tossed the core of his apple. He wasn't going to take the bait. The time had long passed when a one-on-one battle of skills with ones' opponent was fair and honorable. He was not here to up-hold honor, he was here to survive and if that meant using House Elves, then so be it. There was no shame in accepting the fact that you are way out of your league and seeking help.

"Whatever does the job, you know? And they are not my opponents. You are." He added, just to keep in character and because some distant, remote part of him, also believed it.

"Well then."

"Yes, well."

"…"

"…"

Charles had been relieved when the attacks started. The wait, the adrenaline and the excess magic were screaming at him to do something and glaring was not his forte. His big, harmless blue eyes did not successfully convey death and gore. More's the pity.

For the first time, Charles was actually quite glad he was already far on his way to be a perfectly normal, insane individual. Otherwise he would not have survived the first volley of attacks, which were magical in their nature, of course, but not magic as one might see on Earth because a human mind needs logic, rules and constancy to work. Something that's reinforced by nature, that has it's own logic, rules and patterns.

A mind that has never had to work with mass would never understand concepts as natural to humans as velocity, acceleration, gravity, torque, charge, current, kinetic energy, speed or even time, distance and temperature. A human can instinctively know which temperatures to avoid, calculate the time it can take to travel a certain distance, know that whatever goes up will come down and a whole encyclopedia of information of their surroundings by relaying on past experiences they have been gathering since birth.

But a hitchhiker hidden in the deeps of a soul does not truly experience the world and that was a weakness Charles would exploit. But on the other hand, Not-Gellert's magic, all the parasite has ever known, is like nothing Charles has ever experienced and is bound by no rules.

While Charles upped the temperature to degrees that melted rock and threw sonic booms that broke the sound barrier and sent shockwaves across the territory with enough force to uproot trees, he was forced to deal with the sky being the floor, the water –previously snow- having eyes and absolutely nothing making sense. It was like a macabre scene from Alice in Wonderland with everything trying to kill and main him.

A lesser –and healthier, man might had lost his mind in less than ten minutes, but if dealing with Penelope has taught him anything it was to embrace the unusual. Or it will embrace you. In this case literally.

In any case, Charles would never admit that he might had screamed like a girl and ran in opposite direction to _anyone_, specially since Not-Gellert did not move from his spot, only using magic to drive Charles away.

Charles dodged a black nebula that had fangs and found himself meters away from the edge of a cliff that was humanly impossible to jump across, on the other side was his target, Not-Gellert. They had been separated when being upside down, walking on water and dodging acid clouds that wanted to sit down and discuss the weather with him had disoriented Charles and he had ran in the opposite direction attacking a phantom Not-Gellert lookalike. He was not too proud to admit that for the first minute –maybe more, probably more- he had been terrified beyond thought.

What had initially been their starting position was now ground zero, the crater was more than ten meters deep and across and nothing had survived the initial destruction but it served as a reminder of direction and served to orient him in the now unfamiliar land.

He approached the gap running and jumped over it without any hesitation, a horde of inferi's had been chasing him and between dying as a meal or jumping and hoping for the best, it had been no contest. He had also thrown a small, tiny really, nuclear bomb before he had seen the abysm so in part it was his own fault. The explosion sounded when he was half way and it had been enough to propel him the rest of the way. He landed rolling, which conveniently extinguished the fire on his back but inconveniently injured his already black and blue body.

To say he was a bleeding from every piece of skin would have been an understatement. Right now the adrenaline on his blood and the magic that was dancing on his skin like a miniature sun did not let him feel the true extent of his injuries. But he knew, from the extensive training and his time with the beast from the ritual, that they were abundant and serious. The crack of broken bone was a sound he had gotten used to and knew he could withstand that and much more. The physical torture he had already submitted himself to had heightened his pain tolerance to unseen levels. The third degree burns on his back, the deafness on his ears, the broken bones and damaged muscles only slowed him down for the moment it took for his magic to reinforce him so he could keep going. His balance, however, was something he sorely missed. Especially since he was running like a drunk on probably one of the most defining days of his life.

The six others that had come with Not-Gellert had escaped before the first explosion. The last he saw them they were working together to dispatch the hundreds of man eating three feet long worms that were slowly backing the group to an acid lake Charles had previously thrown at the lookalike. He hadn't waited to see if they survived the encounter since they had been happy enough to let him deal with the black mist on his own.

The air was chocking in magic and it was getting hard to breath air instead of pure magic. It also didn't help that he had a punctured lung that left him gasping for quick and shallow breaths. He was now close to the real Not-Gellert who was looking particularly furious at the turn of events and at his continual survival. He could hear screams in the distance, followed by the distinctive sounds of minefields.

Oh dear, they should had been more careful not to disturb his carefully placed minefield. That would teach them not let the enemy choose the battlefield. If they survive this, that is. He was losing his mind. He could tell by the gleefulness in that thought.

He grabbed a bloody double-headed axe he had hidden in his person and swung it with the ease and precision of a warrior. He had been clumsy with it at the start but that had been before the awakened bodies of everyone that had died in the forest, the tarantulas that flew, the worms that could eat a whole human and the bunnies… all of them resistant to magic. Now he was quite proficient with it.

They had no true physical appearance to the animals he knew, they were just matter controlled by magic but his mind, in order to maintain its' fragile sanity, had constructed images he could see, recognize and battle against. The unknown always drove you insane quicker.

His axe was meet by the clank of a sword that materialized itself in Not-Gellert's hand moments before the axe could strike. It stopped the axe from decapitating him but did nothing about the poisoned dagger that had embedded itself to his side. Gellert did not seem to notice and a cutting spell had Charles rolling to the side to avoid being spit in half. Mid-roll he threw a potion at Gellert's feet. Before the potion broke Gellert had already determined that it was water and ignored it, assuming it was a distraction from the more dangerous rain of acid-dipped arrows that were headed his way.

The next flask that Charles threw Gellert checked for magic and since he found none, he ignored it for the volley of darts that was heading his way. He was completely right on that, it had absolutely no magic. It was lithium aluminum hydride, dangerously reactive towards water, including atmospheric moisture. Not-Gellert got the idea that it was dangerous when Charles started running in the opposite direction with renewed energy.

The explosion, and fire, that resulted were absolutely magnificent and awe worthy. Even under his best shield Charles still felt the heat on his face and the vibrations on his bones. When the fire grew twice its size Charles knew that somewhere, under all the fire and smoke, Gellert had tried to use water on the fire. Charles had just taught him a basic chemistry lesson by way of practical experience; some fires can be made worse with water.

Not-Gellert came out of the explosion having shed his clothes, burns of varying degrees in his body and with a pearly white shield protecting him for further harm from the still licking fires.

Not-Gellert looked deliciously wrathful as he walked forwards, the fire on his back creating a red aura around him and making him look like a demon coming out from Hell's mouth. Charles smiled placidly back but quickly hid behind a rock before the spell reached him, the rock exploded, becoming sand and leaving him exposed once again.

He started the ritual he had prepared while deflecting spells when he could and ducking and rolling when he could not. He darted back and forth like an arrow, moving with no excess flair or posturing, just concentrating on not getting hit and keeping up the litany.

When he could get close enough, he sliced tendons and nicked veins just enough to weaken but not kill. Murmuring under his breath all the while, raising magic as a necromancer would raise the dead. Slowly, lovingly, coaxing it from the earth, willing it to fuel the ritual, offering Gellert's blood and his own. Everything had a price and the second the stopped chanting he knew what was the price for this bit of magic when he felt blocks descending on his magic.

From now until the end of the ritual he wouldn't be able to use his magic. Which was pure hell since Not-Gellert had no intention of stopping or slowing down and he could see the others slowly approaching, apparently having survived the worms, minefield and inferi. He didn't know if they'll side with him now that they had witnessed for themselves how dispensable they were to their contractor when his magic had tried to kill them just as much as it had tried to kill him but he wouldn't take any chances. With that he threw six orbs in their direction that –if not kill, will make their lives that much more difficult for a few minutes.

The orbs were illegal in most parts of the world, having been banned in most countries a long time ago, but right now prison was not his main worry or even a worry. Not when the third consecutive poison green light from a Killing Curse almost hit him on the leg. His body was now reacting purely on instinct, ducking when he felt a cold breeze on his neck, rolling before he consciously decided he needed to roll and overall letting his body react as it had been train to react now that his mind was too tired to plan his next move.

An unnatural mist started to rise; shaping itself in the form of the ritual circle he had created earlier that month with Tom. Not-Gellert should have never left him time to plan, he thought dizzily, it would be his undoing. The attack intensified and all he could do to keep up was duck and fire from shelter. His storage of bombs, orbs, throwing knives and stars dropped to worrying levels in a short amount of time. If this didn't stop soon, he'll have to resort to throwing rocks, Charles thought with desperation. It had to end, soon. He promised he'd be back. He_ promised_.

When the last of his backup dried up it was met with a sudden silence. Charles accepted the fact he was going to die, right here, right now, on this destroyed piece of land and no one was ever going to find his body. As sad as it sounded he was looking forward to the rest. He was just so _tired._ And everything hurt so much.

A blinding white light and an earthquake later he felt the blocks dissolving and his magic returning to his body, signaling the end of the ritual. The magic was now visible and he was sure that in a few moments all of magical Britain would be here to see what the hell had just happened. But first, there was something he had to do. He walked unsteadily to the body in the middle of a blackened field. Gellert was naked, bruised and battered but still breathing. He closed the distance between them, kneeled in front of the still body, touched his forehead and whispered, "Obliviate."

All the information on Charles Winter was erased in that single moment and on his place was a Thomas Brown, a portly accountant in his late fifty that had stolen a big chunk of Gellert's money. The body, perhaps from an automatic safe response to attacks, porkeyed away, leaving Charles alone. Or not so alone, he raised his eyes to a group of eyes. He was frankly surprised they were still alive. Even if the number had dropped considerably and they are less cocky and self-assured than they had been at the start.

"What the fuck just happened?" One of them asked. Charles looked at him with exhausted eyes. He had long red hair, falling to his hips, pieces of it burned, hazel eyes and a pout, that much like his, was hard to take seriously and freckled to the extreme.

"I repeat, what the _fuck_. Just. Happened?"

Not very patient either, Tom would have known to wait. To spite him, Charles took the time to observe the others that survived. They were a strong bunch, Not-Gellert had chosen well, if only he had known how to use them. Dark eyes, dark hair, the only one of the bunch in Wizard robes that survived. His pointy hat had not. The next one, dark skin, dark eyes, close-cropped hair and muscled, looked imposing but weak with tiredness and confusion.

Sitting on the ground with one hand oddly twisted was a blue eyed, brown hair one with a pistol aiming at Charles' heart. He was young, younger than the rest, maybe fifteen. And the last one surprised him by being a general in Gellert's army. Why had he not taken Gellert's side on the fight?

He might have asked the question out loud because the man responded, "We could not help to notice he looked… possessed."

"He is not anymore." Charles informed him. "And he wont remember about today, you'll do well not to mention it to him."

"Why did he want you? What are you?" The tall, dark skinned muscled man asked brusquely but with more courtesy than his friend had or Charles just liked him better.

"I slighted him." Charles told him from his perch on the floor. He hadn't moved from the spot since Gellert had disappeared and had made no move to defend himself from the wands pointed at his head and gun at his heart. He figured they were too curious to outright kill him.

A round of snorts and a 'you don't say' later they were still looking at him expectedly. "Really that's it. I found out some things the being possessing him and he did not like me knowing."

They all opened their mouths to talk at the same time but 'cracks' interrupted them. With a single glance at each other they apparated away, leaving Charles on the floor. Before Charles could muster the strength to apparate away a red light hit him and he gladly went to the dark.


	23. Chapter 23: Department of Mysteries

Chapter 23: Department of Mysteries

Without opening his eyes, Charles knew he wasn't sleeping on his bed. First, there was no sound. A noticeable lack of noise. No dog barking, no chicken squabbling, no Tom screaming, no Penny crying, no Abby singing, only silence.

The second thing he noticed was that he was confortable and warm.

He never slept confortable or warm. There was always squib-like arms or legs trapping him, making breathing harder and moving an impossibility. There was no hot and humid breath on his neck that made him want to scratch his neck and smack Tom with the same hand for breathing on his neck.

There was a notable absence of Tom, Chief Thief of sheets, pillows, space and sanity. No uncomfortable warmth of a too hot body on one side and numbing cold on the other. His back did not hurt from being in an uncomfortable angle in an attempt to escape the unwanted weight. There were no cool feet pressing against his leg, no hands with sharp nails squeezing repeatedly his side when he didn't obey some silent command. No sleepy voice telling him to stop moving.

He was completely and utterly confortable, perfectly straight and completely covered. Something he hasn't experienced since he had left the bed in his parents home years ago. On one hand it worried him deeply and on the other he wanted to roll around and keep sleeping.

The light was also wrong; it was too white to be the natural sunlight that enters his window every morning. It felt more like the light on their bathroom, magical light.

"You are awake." A voice said from somewhere out of his line of sight. _A woman's voice_, his mind supplied, _not young but not old_, it observed, like it was a third person inside his body thinking for him. A moment later she appeared in his line of sight, which was currently nothing more than the ceiling and a little of the white, sterile room. The room looked blurry, he blinked a few times and tried to bring the room to focus but that only caused him a headache so he stopped.

Thankfully she was close enough that he could discern her features without much pain. She looked like a perfectly ordinary mid-forties woman; brown hair in a tight, stylish plait, small brown eyes, slightly big nose, small lips and a tall, slim body with womanly curves. In other words, she could have been anyone's daughter, sister, cousin or neighbour.

"I am Healer Trinity and you are currently in St. Mungo's Hospital." _Liar_. They had been to St. Mungo's for a check-up and to get vaccinated for common magical maladies and then again when Penny got sick. He did not know where he was but he knew this place was not St. Mungo. It smelled different, the magic felt different, even the light was not quite right. St. Mungo's light was much brighter, it almost hurt the eyes.

"You were brought in three days ago with severe injuries, third degree burns and the worst case of magical exhaustion I have seen in one so young. Your body recovered remarkably well in a surprising short amount of time. But you were kept asleep until we were completely satisfied with your recovery. Please drink these potions, but before, can you tell me your name and the name of your parents so that we may get in contact? I'm sure they are very worried." She had a quill and parchment and looked at him expectedly.

"Why can't I see clearly?" He asked. His mind felt sluggish and slow. He was having a hard time recalling what was the last thing he had been doing.

"Large amount of magic can have detrimental effects on the organs, most noticeably the eyes. The magic you were exposed to did not turn them red, black or white with blindness, as is the case for the more severe incidents. But you did suffered serious and permanent damage to your eyes. We manage to salvage your vision but I'm sorry to say you'll need glasses."

"Oh." _Oh_. He frowned and looked at the ceiling. It was white, he could tell it was white but maybe it was a light cream shade and he'll never know.

"I am truly sorry." She said in a neutral tone. If she meant it or not, it was hard to tell.

He nodded. "Charles Winter, my uncle takes care of me but he is out of town." He said, because any lie will be easily destroyed with a quick check to the archives and a few questions to the right people and would only increase suspicion on why he felt the need to lie and more questions.

"Very well, drink your potions."

She stayed by his bedside watching him carefully. After a few uncomfortable seconds Charles' mind finally felt the need to inform him that she meant drink the potions _now_ while she was watching to make sure he drank them all.

He tried to move to a sitting position. His muscles felt stiff, his arms weak and his legs felt like they were made from concrete so he wasn't sure how he was going to sit up. His plight must have been evident because the woman, Healer Trinity, took out her wand and in the next instant his bed was moved into a siting position.

"Thanks," he croaked. She passed him a glass of much needed water but all his fantasies of drinking litres and litres of water until he puked were put on hold when he smelled the drink. He almost groaned in frustration but dutifully let the glass of water slip through his fingers and drop to floor. It shattered into a million pieces.

"I'm sorry." Charles mumbled, looking at the water on the floor with true sadness. He was thirsty and they wanted to give him mild truth potion, not Veritaserum, but a milder kid-friendly version that had a faint, almost unnoticeable, sweet smell, like cherry and lavender. It was used when children underwent traumatic experiences they might not wish to talk about but that their statement was vital for court.

She sighed, very put upon, and handed him the next potion, a blue concoction he recognized as a pain reliever. He drank it without complain of the awful vomit and acid aftertaste. The next few were easily recognizable but with a foul tang that made his lips curved into a grimace. His companion, the probably-not-Healer in the definitely-not-Hospital, was looking at him more sharply than the task required.

"I'll be back shortly to check up on you." With that she walked away and passed through a wall as if it wasn't there and to a hidden room with a one-way window.

"So, Unspeakable four-twenty what's the verdict?"

She looked down at her papers and said, "He is indeed Charles Winter, as the blood tests and papers had confirmed beforehand. Admitted that his uncle is the one taking care of him and that he is unreachable at the moment."

"Was he an active participant or an unfortunate victim?" The harsh voice of Unspeakable one-six asked with no preamble.

The woman did not take the tone to heart. She was used to his harsh personality.

"Magic tests have come out with uncertain results. Due to the amount of magic he has been exposed, it might take a week for his magic to stabilize and the results to make sense. Until then we can only speculate since he recognizes truth serums and is not willing to drink them."

"So time traveller? Come to make right some perceived wrong?"

"No. He is from this time and place." She confirmed.

"Then harbouring another, older soul that wants to 'save the world'?" He finished derisively; irritated about the amount of people they have to freeze in a time chamber to stop them from changing the time-line or do some stupid shenanigans to 'save the future'.

"No. Just one soul in his body."

Unspeakable one-six nodded, pleased at not having another super-powered junkie with delusions of grandeur and 'without me you're all doomed' attitude. It would make things easier and less paperwork.

"Health?" He asked with little to no care and only because protocol demanded it.

"Physically, as well as could be expected." At her boss inquiring raised eyebrow she expanded, "He has veela inheritance." Her boss nodded, not needing to know much more. Those from veela line, even distantly, were known to be extremely durable, adaptable and notoriously hard to kill.

"Anything else I should know?" He asked because he noticed the particular distinction on 'physically'.

"Well sir, he has a self destructive post traumatic stress disorder. It leads to unhealthy coping strategies, such as deliberate self-harm or substance abuse problems. In his case, I believe alcohol abuse since his body has shown signs of extensive repair to organs most affected by alcohol drinking."

"Nothing to do with what happened then?... If he has been drinking before." He mused, trying to put together the pieces of the puzzle.

"No. I believe it's something that happened a long time ago. Maybe about the time he had all of his bones broken. But that is only speculation on my part."

"He had all of his bones broken?" He asked, surprised, looking at her as if pondering to tell her to do the test once again.

"He has signs of prolong torture and the scars to prove it."

"What else?" He asked with curiosity.

"Problems with identity, an unstable self-image or sense of who he really is. Passive suicide tendencies." She said looking in her long rolls of parchment what was important and leaving out the details. If she read the entirety of it they'll be here all night.

"Anything else?"

"He has a lot of magic in his brain, blocking a big part of his memories. It all points to several bad obliviate jobs."

He looked at the boy in the bed and asked, "His uncle is the one taking care of him?" She nodded, "He is a beautiful child…his uncle might not have been able to resist the temptation."

She nodded, "It would explain some of the other things, sir, the stress disorder, the alcohol problem and the torture, if he ever rebelled against his uncle."

"What else?"

"He is allergic to cats, sir."

He snorted at her sass but quickly got serious again, "We'll wait until he wakes up again and interrogate him; if he knows nothing he's out of here. This isn't a charity and healing him has been costly."

"Sir?" Another Unspeakable asked.

"Yes Unspeakable seven-A?"

"We need a test subject and if no one is going to miss him…"

"You killed the last test subject in under an hour and disposed him on the bin outside our door. I had a hell of a time explaining to the Minister how a dead body meters away from our door was not, in fact, our fault. Get out of here before I reconsider re-suspending you."

"Yes, sir." Unspeakable seven-A said promptly but still looked longingly at the boy in the other room on his way out.

Three hours later, two hours after the changing of guards for the boy, Unspeakable seven-A entered the room and showed his falsified permits to take the boy away for experimentation. The Unspeakable on duty nodded to him and opened the door to the prisoner. Four hours later, an alarm sounded indicating that all doors in and out of the Department of Mysteries had been opened and a few things had been stolen, including a priceless bag of sand time they had stolen from the Unspeakable's in Russia.

Unspeakable seven-A was found dead in his room. Two unidentified wizards entered the Department and it took four more hours for someone to notice that the child they had under custody was missing, one more for someone to point out that the papers were faked and two days for it all to make sense.

The Department of Mysteries reached the conclusion that after Unspeakable seven-A took out the child someone else tried to rob the department. Unspeakable seven-A, in his desperation not to be found with the illegally obtained child fought the intruders and got killed in the fight. The intruders managed to take the valuables but in their hurry to get out did not disabled the wards correctly and the alarms sounded. The child, they assumed, got scared and ran out.

It was the only logical conclusion to the evidence.

=]=]=]

Charles arrived home four days after he had left. It was already dark outside. His portkey had been taken by the Unspeakables and he hadn't noticed until he had been outside the Ministry, making him backtrack to the Department of Mysteries, create a diversion, steal his portkey back, destroy all of his documents as an after thought and then get out undetected. To then notice that his portkey had been tampered with and was now not working. He almost cried in a corner at the unfairness of it all.

He then walked all the way to Martha's flower shop, almost a day of walking since he had no money for bus or train, begged forgiveness for not keeping in touch and pleaded on bent knees for a new portkey.

It had not been easy. She guilt tripped him to exhaustion, playing the forgotten old lady that no one wants around perfectly. With a lot _'No, no, don't worry. I understand we're not blood related and as such you don't owe me a thing_' and even more _'Of course I'm not mad_' in a voice that clearly said, 'yes, I'm fucking pissed'.

Tom was the first to notice him, probably from all the magic he was still emitting like a mad sun. They met in the middle and hugged, one of the few hugs in Charles' memory that Tom had ever reciprocated.

"How's Abby?" He asked not a second later.

-0-

Tom felt resentment rise at the question; of course it was always _her_ that he feared losing. His precious sister, his blood and the last of his family all in one, of course she was his priority. Sad thing was that he couldn't even master the strength to hate her; even he could see that Charles needed Abigael more than she needed him. She had his heart in her careless hands. But Tom had something neither she nor Penelope could ever have. He had the real Charles, not the mask he puts on to protect them.

He saw the true Charles, scars and all. Charles was a flawed individual that made many mistakes. Not the perfect all-knowing boy he pretends to be when they are around, which was fortunate because he liked the real Charles. He could identify with Charles' ruthlessness, cunning and passion. His know-it-all, wise, holier than thou would have driven Tom to murder. Then to steal his money and live happily ever after some place else.

Abigael and Penelope will never see him as Tom saw him because Charles would never permit it. His demons, nightmares, pain, lies were all Tom's. They could keep his fake smiles as long as that dark, but real, part of Charles was solely his.

Tom swallowed his vitriol and answered, "Inside, making a horrible smelling soup that Penny keeps dumping things in it. The elves stopped coming."

Charles nodded, hid his face in Tom's neck and whispered, "I'm glad you're ok." Tom nodded and relaxed the knot that was in his stomach. Charles cared. He did. Tom just wasn't his first priority.

Suddenly weak, the fight all taken from him, Charles needed Tom to help him the rest of the way. Before they reached the door, Abigael came out, closely followed by Penelope. She marched right up to him and gave him such a strong punch he almost blacked out.

_Well, no need to worry about her right hook, _Charles thought.

And then proceeded to hug him with anaconda-like strength, while hitting him and telling him how much she hated him. She sobbed into his shoulder when she tired of hitting him. His just healed ribs screamed at her continual abuse but he said nothing and hugged her just as tightly. After a forceful push that left him on the floor, she ran back to the house and slammed the front door. He could hear her hurried steps as she ran the stairs and then a second door slamming.

Tom helped him up and Charles asked warily, "Are you going to punish me too?"

"Not now when you are moaning about your sister. Later, when you are not distracted by her dramatics." With that, he too walked inside.

He hugged Penny and whispered, "Don't grow up."

"Why?" She whispered back.

"You'll start hating me too."

"Never." She vowed fiercely.


	24. Chapter 24: Perenell Flamel

**Chapter 24: Perenell Flamel**

March 1935

The rain had been pouring relentlessly since sundown. With no fixed direction, the wind pulled and pushed from all sides, drenching the lonely inhabitants of the dark street with freezing cold water. Rivers of brown tinted water from dirt and grime ran through the gutters. Rats scurried out of the overfilled sewers and filled the night with their loud noises of distress.

In the passing hours the rain had calmed down to a light drizzle with a strong breeze and the promise of more rain for the night.

Charles, covered with a black raincoat, that conveniently hid all of his weapons, was stalking a building from the roof of another abandoned building. His new square glasses permitted him to observe the scene clearly in spite of the rain. They had water repelling charm and a charm to dull his eye colour but other than that they had no additional magic.

He had been in the same place, on the same position for over three hours. His lips were tinted blue, as were the tips of his fingers. His hair was soaked, drops running thru his face, down his nose, hesitating for a moment, and then falling when another was ready to take its place. His legs were cramping from the time spent squatting in the small alcove that offered little protection against the rain, but masked him well from unwanted eyes. The rain had the benefit of covering his smell by exalting the smell of trash, excrement, wet rat and rotten food to its highest potential. Any sound he made was drowned in the constant pitter-patter of each drop falling on the street, the splashes of drops falling on a puddle and the whoosh of the wind.

As uncomfortably long and cold as the night had been, he now had a better idea of the comings and goings of the most infamous street in London. The moment he was waiting for came with a disturbance a few streets away that caused many of the residents to leave and investigate. He took the chance and dropped from the small three-story building he had been on, with only a rope to hold him from certain death. The rope left him five foot in the air with a hard tug to his middle. With a pocketknife he cut the rope and fell the rest of the way, moving his body like a cat before landing and bending his knees at the impact. The splash of his feet landing on a puddle went unnoticed by all but the rats that squeaked in distress and scurried away.

He let the rope where it was, even if it bothered him. He didn't want to leave behind any sort of evidence that could be tracked down, but using magic to eliminate it would only bring more attention than just leaving it. For that reason he walked on.

After much planning, dodging and evading, Charles finally, _finally_, made it to the bookstore owned by the famed Nicholas Flamel. It only took him: a past failed attempt, hours of careful watching and three nights of consecutive stalking. But if the talkers, and Malfoy Senior, were to be believed, Flamel was the person to go when you needed something rare, valuable and/or illegal.

Charles liked to think he was a person who learned from his mistakes. That he was creative enough and could always find new mistakes to make, instead of relying on the old and tried. Tonight he wasn't going to get trapped in a vampire buffet for a second time. That was his goal. Not get caught. He also didn't want to try being werewolf purée, since it was basically the same story with different colours.

He was cold, hungry and shivering, but everything was going according to plan. He had not gotten caught. He had not been rash and impulsive. He had observed, studied and planned. All things considered, pretty shocking and out of character.

Charles checked the number of the street for the third time. It was the right number. He checked the number of the building and it still read #32. He was in the right place. But the place was not at all like he imagined it to be.

Things are seldom what he imagines them to be. He should just stop assuming since it was evident he was always wrong anyway.

The golden light from the interior bathed the street with unnatural normalcy. The door had a golden spidery writing on its crystal that read:

_Golden Treasure Bookstore_

_Opening Hours: Monday- Friday 8:00pm-4:00am_

Tinkling bells sounded when he hesitantly pushed the door open. The interior was bright, cheery and blessedly warm. The ceiling twisted upwards in a curious way that brought to mind white clouds on a blue sky. The wooden floor was clean and polished with scratch marks from use. It had a few throw rugs in key places and comfy looking armchairs, all of them charmingly mismatched in warm colours. Towers of bookcases covered every available space, all the books alphabetized by author and organized by subject. The place smelled like freshly baked biscuits.

Charles blinked, took off his glasses, cleaned them and put them back on. No, everything was still the same.

"Hello darling! Well aren't you a sight!" A plump homely witch greeted him. She had pure white hair that just reached her shoulders and was carefully brushed to its best advantage with a pin to hold it in place, soft brown eyes that sparkled with merriment and a face full of wrinkles. She cleaned her hands on the white apron that covered her long green robe and approached him with a wide smile. Her front teeth were crooked, Charles noticed. It sort of ruined her smile but her warmth more than made up for it.

"Nicholas! _Nicholas!_ We have a customer. Get your wrinkled ass over here." She screeched to the back room and turned back with a sweet smile for him. "Tea?"

Charles cleared his throat and said, "Yes, please."

"Oh! Such a nice, polite boy and such beauty! Your mother must be proud. Biscuit?"

He nodded, still a little unbalanced. No, not what he expected. What _had_ he expected from a bookstore and two ancient people? Machine guns? A death battle? He was more prepared for the apocalypse, with the amount of ammunition and explosives he had on his person, than for tea and biscuits. The cold steel against his skin made him feel guilty and out of place in this nice homely place. He fidgeted in place, water dripping down from his soaked clothes and hair, before she talked again.

"Come, sit and drink your tea, then you can tell me what you need." She said, with the sweet smile and pushiness that only grandmothers could pull off. He started to use magic to dry himself up but when he accidentally set on fire his not heat-resistant raincoat, he stopped and just sat as he was.

"Oh Nicholas, there you are. Finally! What took you so long?" Without waiting for any response she continued, "Look, look, we have a little human boy and isn't he just the cutest little thing you have ever seen?"

The elderly man that entered from the back door, Nicholas Flamel apparently, had round spectacles that made his hazel eyes pop out, patches of white hair, big nose, large ears and every piece of skin covered with wrinkles. He even had wrinkles in his wrinkles.

"Yes, it appears we have a little one in our humble abode. Such a rare occurrence. A rare occurrence indeed. What is it that you are looking for child?" He asked kindly, looking at Charles curiously.

"Oh Nicholas! Don't be so rude! Let the boy drink his tea in peace." She chastised with little heat. She brought her own cup of tea to her lips but Mr. Flamel came running and stopped her before she had a chance to drink it.

"Dear, you are getting senile in your old age. You put poison in your own drink!" He took her cup away and put in the table besides the chair he sat on.

"Oh silly me! I must have confused the poison for the milk. You shouldn't leave them laying about darling."

Charles wisely put his own drink down, even if his looked and smelled untouched, while hers looked sickly green with yellow puffs coming out at intervals.

"Forgive my wife, Perenell, the years have affected her mind, I'm afraid." Nicholas said with a worrying glance to his wife. She, in turned, smiled tightly back.

"Eat your biscuit dear, its freshly made." Mrs. Flamel insisted.

"Thank you Mrs. Flamel, for all your hospitality but I'd prefer if we finish soon. The streets are not a safe place to be this late."

"Alight young man, in what can I be of service? We have the latest set of story books and a just arrived batch of toy soldiers." Nicholas Flamel said excitedly, looking as if he was only just suppressing the urge to run and get them.

"No…no." Charles tried not to puzzle _why_ they had toy soldiers and with only a mystified glance in their direction, plunged on, "I was thinking more along the lines of a Magic converter, preferably up to five million in magical volts. If not possible then a few smaller ones."

"Up to five million you say." Nicholas Flamel gave him a piercing stare and scratched his small white beard thoughtfully, "That's a lot. Enough to do a lot of damage..."

"I realize that."

"Well, I shouldn't. I really shouldn't. No one was happy with me after the whole Atlantis debacle… But what the heck!" He exclaimed with gleeful excitement and a mischievous gleam in his eye, not unlike a little boy. "Nothing interesting has happened lately. An old man like me has to create his own diversion once in a while you know." He gazed into the distance with a far away look and a goofy smile.

"I'll be back in a jiffy. I have just the thing." With a jump, Flamel stood and walked briskly to the back of the room, almost hopping and vibrating in barely contained excitement.

"So child, tell me, what's your name." Perenelle asked pleasantly, stirring more poison into her new cup of tea.

"Charles Winter, madam." Charles responded plainly. She was stirring more poison than what was needed to put down an elephant. And the elephant's family. And the small town the elephants came from. Probably the continent, if put in a common water source, like a river.

He did not comment on it since it was evident she was doing it on purpose.

"Nice name, strong name. Eat another biscuit darling, you're too skinny by far."

Charles obediently nibbled on his biscuit, he was rather hungry, and looked around the store. If she dropped dead with foam on her mouth he didn't want to see it. He put more sugar into the tea he wasn't drinking and stirred, looking everywhere except at the little old lady with a death wish. He was momentarily distracted by a noise and he looked up to the air vent, not seeing anything.

"Here we are! A magical converter of six million magical volts, the last of its kind, I can only lease it to you. Is that agreeable?" Charles nodded, "Is there something else or is it this all you were looking for?" Nicolas asked, he had in his hands what appeared to be a small music box. The paint was old and faded but it looked well cared for. It vibrated with magic and appeared to have its own aura.

"A book called Old Souls."

"Do you know who wrote it?"

"No."

"Do you know when it was written?"

"No."

"Do you know what it is about?"

"No, not really, souls and reincarnation if I had to guess."

"In what language was it written?"

"No idea."

Flamel did a thoughtful humming sound and scratched a scab he had on his cheek distractedly. After a moment he asked, "Has it already been written?"

"I don't know." If any of them thought the question was strange, none voiced it. Charles' level of respect rose a notch for the man, his ability to extrapolate that the book might have not yet been written was all the prove Charles needed that Flamel was the real deal.

"Well that is a problem. I will try my best to search for it, but I promise nothing." He forcibly took the teacup from his wife when she tried to sip from it, causing a small scuffle when she refused to give it back and in the process they knocked the plate of biscuits to the floor.

"Perenelle the poison!" Flamel exclaimed, distraught. Charles dropped to the floor to pickup the plate from under the table. He started picking up bits and pieces of biscuit from the floor, placing them back in the silver plate before he noticed that all the biscuits and crumbs had aligned to form words.

More specifically, _Kill me, Please!_

Charles appreciated for a moment Perenelle's eye for detail by adding the use of comma and exclamation point. Then he started wondering _why_ he was thinking such a thing. He quickly got up and left the plate on the floor.

Charles looked at the desperately pleading eyes of Perenelle for a second before Nicholas took his attention away.

"You arrived on a difficult day Mr. Winter, forgive my wife, she doesn't know what she's doing. Old age does that to you. But fear not, I won't lose her. I just finished with a new and improved formula that even if she dies, she would forever live on inside of me. Quite literally I'm afraid. True love like ours doesn't need space." He patted her hand, "We'll be one, forever and ever." He looked at his wife lovingly and she looked quite ready to vomit.

A chill ran through his back. Charles nodded slowly and resolved to get out of this place as soon as possible. "How much do I owe you?"

Flamel excused himself, taking away the tea set with him in one hand and escorting his wife with another, whispering softly in her ear, to find his books so he could write the transaction, leaving Charles alone in the front of the store. He sat in front of the fire to soak up the warmth and thought about Perenell and her wish to die. Six hundred years was a lot of time to spend alive. In all probability, she was tired from living. He could understand that, it was only normal. Even vampires committed suicide once in a while.

He heard the noise from before and looked up at the air vent once again. Only now to see small black shinny dress shoes with white socks of, if he had to guess, a child of maybe four, walking past the opening.

He gulped, goose bumps appearing in arms and a shiver running down his back. He stayed perfectly still, but the urge to run was overwhelming. His body telling him, warning him, that something was _wrong_. That it was unnatural and he was in danger. Adrenaline rushed through his system, sharpening his mind and warming his body.

-0-

Flamel entered the room to find the little boy holding a sharp double edged knife in one hand, a ball of blue magical fire in the other and a magical barrier already half way done. Scorch marks on the ceiling indicated were previous flames had hit. Flamel smiled indulgently at Charles, humour apparent in his eyes, and signalled the boy to come and look over the receipt.

After signing away a good part of his fortune, Charles took his leave, not wanting to ever step foot in that place again. He was owl-sending the converter back. To hell with politeness.

-o-

Tom was waiting for him when he got back to the house. It was past midnight and Tom sat on the porch in his white overalls with a cup in his hands and a fur blanket on his shoulders. He didn't ask anything or forced Charles to talk and for that Charles was thankful.

Charles entered the house, kept the door open for Tom, took the stairs two at a time, with Tom at his heals, and entered their room. He shed all of his wet, cold clothes, with Tom looking at him critically for injuries, even going as far as making Charles do a full turn.

Other than blue and shivering from the cold Tom found no new injury. Charles took a clean towel and went downstairs to bathe.

Tom followed him into the bath and stood waiting while Charles immersed himself in the hot, scalding water, still not saying a word. Charles sighted happily, the feeling going back to his limbs leaving him pink and flushed. He was once again followed closely as he climbed the bed, Tom gripping him tight enough to hurt.

Charles fidgeted a bit, trying to find a comfortable spot, but otherwise, not complaining. Three nights of the same routine had taught him that it was better not to talk or complain. Tom needed to follow him obsessively and Charles needed silence until after he settled in. They both sort-of understood that and sort-of respected it.

"What are you planning to do?" Tom whispered into his still wet hair once they were settled in bed.

"Something mental." Charles answered with resignation, looking at the dark ceiling and feeling Tom's eyes on the side of his face.

"Mental like let's take a girl and risk going hungry kind of mental or let's do a ridiculously painful blood ritual –mental?" Tom asked him after a prolong silence.

"No," he paused, "more like raising the dead kind of mental."

Tom stayed silent and Charles didn't add more. When Charles' eyes were dropping in exhaustion and his breathing evening Tom added, "You don't sound too concern about it."

"Hmm? No, should be fun." Charles muttered sleepily, moving to his side and dragging Tom with him when the boy refused let go.

"Why are you planning to raise the dead?"

"Secrets are only for the living, not the dead… and army" Charles responded, not making much sense.

Tom sighed with weary sort of resignation, buried himself deeper in the covers and dragged Charles closer, hiding his face in Charles' neck. Tomorrow he'll demand a full explanation.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Side notes<strong>__ (things that probably will not be in the story later on) :_

_Little four-year girl/boy you saw in the scene? Nicolas and Perenell' first born. He/she was born sick, reason why Nicolas started experimenting with prolonging life in the first place. His first experiment was successful in the way that it kept him/her alive but the result was not normal/natural. It became his obsession and it resulted in the shinny rock from Harry's first book. Neither of them had the heart to kill/dispose what became of their first (and only) child._


	25. Chapter 25: Salt circles

Chapter 25: Salt circles

May 1935

"Ok, we are now rolling!" Charles' voice exclaimed happily from behind the big homemade recording device that was perched on his shoulder and looked like it'll come apart at any second. Or spontaneously combust.

A black and white image of Tom's face filled the screen for a few seconds until a hand pushed the lens away complaining, "Charles get that thing off my face!"

"Oy! Careful with the equipment. I spent a lot of time on this." Charles' voice responded from somewhere behind the image of the floorboards.

"You spent half and hour, destroyed the clock and God knows what else to build that…_thing._" Tom's voice responded and the image was once again of Tom on his bed with a book perched on his knees, rumpled pyjamas and puffy hair.

"Hey! It was a gruelling process of two hours I'll have you know… and I needed the parts." Charles' voice responded, the image going off focus for a few seconds and then refocusing on Tom's face, closer this time.

"I liked that clock." Tom responded sourly, a pout on his lips.

"You hated that clock." Charles' voice calmly reminded Tom, still recording Tom's face, zooming in on his nose.

"But it was _my_ clock to hate."

"That makes no sense actually. Or maybe it does, in Tom-logic." Charles' laughter was heard, followed by a snort and, "Tomology."

"I'm going to bite you if you don't take that thing off my face." Tom now looked truly crossed in the image, book completely forgotten at the side of the bed and the slightly tatty woollen blanket that had previously covered his legs, pushed at his feet.

"No you won't." Charles' voice sounded sure, mocking. Tom moved like quicksilver.

"–Ouch! You are so dead!"

With a static noise the image faded and was replaced with forty minutes of an enormous savage-looking dog, that resembled more a wild wolf than the domesticated pet it was supposed to be, in various pieces of pink, ruffled clothing, looking extremely pleased with the attention, followed by a doll tea party and close ups of various plants.

The image turned black with static noise for a minute and then was replaced by a small living room with a roaring fire and all the furniture moved to one side of the room. Charles' face obstructed the view while he said, "Take one of dance rehearsal," with a pained and solemn expression that seemed more fitting for a funeral than the innocent event.

The image changed abruptly, as if it had been recorded over or deleted, and for a few seconds only a worn rug was shown, after a few dizzying seconds the camera was put on a table and the face of a five-year old was shown making silly faces. Someone must have called her, because she looked back and walked away, leaving the camera recording. The image buzzed and changed.

Now the image showed Charles sitting on the floor in front of the same fireplace, pillows and blankets all around him, a cup of tea forgotten at his side, parchment and books surrounding him like a wall. Tom walked in and tried to push Charles aside so he could sit on the pillows as well. Charles ignored him and kept writing. Tom bended his leg back, with the intention of kicking Charles, but Charles rolled away before the leg could hit his side.

Tom smiled smugly and got confortable in the now open space. Charles glared but let him. When Tom appeared to be settled in, with his head on Charles lap and his legs stretched over the blankets, Charles punched him in the stomach. Tom groaned a little and hugged his middle but otherwise did not move from his spot. Charles grabbed a pillow and a blanket from the pile, put the pillow underneath him and the blanket over his shoulders and kept writing over Tom's head.

Charles frowned at the image on the small screen. He hadn't known that the camera had been recording. It was not the best moment to immortalize on film but he didn't delete it either. It was not an important moment, or a very pretty moment for that matter, but it was how they usually acted. Something that could never be captured if they both knew they were being filmed. He turned off the camera and replaced the film. He set it up on tall three-legged stand and left it filming.

"You are filming this?" Tom asked, incredulous.

"Of course. We are invoking never before seen magic to call an army of fallen soldiers from the realm of Valhalla. I have never seen another Realm or talked to anyone from the Realms'. I'm actually quite excited." Charles responded with a delighted grin.

"Of course you are."

Charles either did not hear or completely ignored the sardonic tone of voice Tom used because he continued with the same level of excitement. "It has never been recorded. I'm not even sure if it _can_ be recorded, we'll see later. Odin was an extremely paranoid wizard but undeniably brilliant. I cannot even write the instructions and he didn't even know how to write or read. Imagine how complicated a spell must be to include the exclusion of things you cannot do." Charles looked at Tom with the expectation that Tom would say, 'Yes, very complicated,' 'Hmmm interesting,' or some other appreciative comment at the complexity of the magic involved.

Tom disappointed him by asking, "And if everything goes wrong?"

'Always the black cloud,' thought Charles with exasperation and some small trace of fondness.

Charles turned back from the sack of salt he was lifting, smiled at Tom and said, "We run. In the wise words of a talking dog, No problem is too big to run away from."

"A talking dog? Really? Have you sunk so low?" Tom mocked.

"The point is, if everything goes south, we disappear and pretend this never happened."

"I'm sure there is an easier way to break out your parents from prison." Tom pointed out, not for the first time.

"I'm sure there is, but this is the fastest way. Well, the fastest way I can think of."

"It's exaggerated, over the top, flashy and bloody. Yes, it's not hard to figure out it came from your convoluted mind."

Charles ignored Tom in favour of arranging the salt sacks perfectly so they could all be taken to the location in one go. That did not deterred Tom from his nervous rambling, "What if we get caught? Can you get expelled from Hogwarts without setting foot it in?"

Charles sighed, cleaned his sweaty forehead with an old towel and said, "We will not get caught."

"What if we do?" Tom pressed.

"If we do, we'll have bigger problems than going to school." Tom's face told him this comment was not appreciated and Charles tried to appease his worries.

"Look Tom, even if we shouted from rooftops that we did it, no one will believe us. Adults have their own sense of reality and logic that does _not_ include little boys raising the dead, opening portals to other Realms or infiltrating high security prisons. No matter the incriminating evidence." Tom still did not look convinced, "Tom, the plan will work. The ritual will be done in Portugal and then we'll portkey to Germany. Portugal is infamous for being the stronghold of the Assassins Guild and a powerful vampire coven. No one will look at England and much less, two eight year-olds boys. Other than that I have arranged other ways to throw them off track."

"Then explain oh-mighty-one." Tom snapped, annoyed that there still seemed to be a lot he didn't know about the plan.

"The first layer of deceit is that an extremely wealthy man has his son imprisoned there. He received an anonymous letter offering to free his son at a cost. He met up with this man and reached a deal, his son's freedom for a considerable fortune. Most of the auror's and other wizarding law enforcement will reach a dead end there. They will be looking for a man, wizard of course, of around fifty-five in desperate need for money and with arcane knowledge. A few fit the description and they'll lose time and resources investigating and interrogating them.

Unspeakable's and anyone else with half a brain might study the original letter and uncover that it has traces of vampire magic but other than that, they will uncover nothing else. Vampires are an organized society but they still have their rebels and unaccounted mercenaries but in all probability they will be _almost _sure it wasn't one of them. But it'll take them _at least_ a few weeks until they get in contact with all the covens, go over formalities and make sure it really wasn't one of them. They will look farther and discover a brooch with a coat of arms from a family that supposedly died a century ago. They will go crazy trying to find information about this family and find the journal of the last descendant where he described having symptoms of that a werewolf in the last pages. They will assume his death was faked, make theories and place blame onto the werewolf's. But most will still be suspicious and unsure. Werewolves are not known for their brains. I'll have my parents and everyone will probably be too busy waging war and pointing fingers to bother me." Charles finished with a very pleased smile.

Tom looked at him weirdly and asked, "When did you had the time to prepare all of that?"

Charles shrugged non-committedly, "Come on Tom, the moon is full and we have a dead army to raise. Take my hand."

Tom closed his eyes and took the offered hand. Without any sense of movement or change he opened his eyes to his first glimpse of Portugal.

-0-

Tom cleaned his sweaty forehead with the end of his long black sleeve and looked at the beautiful starry night and yellow full moon that covered the deserted land. It was a large, lonely place as if the earth itself mourned, which was silly because a place was just a place and had no feelings.

Portugal was hotter than London. He had intellectually known this but the fact still surprised him. He had never been outside of London. The first six years of his life had been spent mostly inside the orphanage, looked in his room. It was with Charles that he explored London with all its lights, nicks and crannies, walked for the first time inside a library, eaten in a restaurant and bought clothes, so it seemed fitting that his first time outside London would also be besides Charles.

He looked at Charles; he too had a black long sleeve shirt, black trousers with large pockets and sturdy boots. Tom had asked why they needed to dress so; Charles had looked at him oddly, as if it was something so obvious that you shouldn't even question it, shrugged and mentioned something about tradition.

Charles looked eerily calm. Tom had two theories. Charles was either extremely sure about the success of the ritual or… had mixed alcohol and calming draughts _again_. Tom dearly hoped it was the first and not the last.

"It'll be fun, Tom." Tom mimicked in a high pitch voice as he heaved yet another sack of salt and started walking towards the next salt circle. Charles failed to mention the amount of mule work he'd be doing. "The next natural step in every relationship is to raise the dead, you can ask anyone Tom," Tom continued to mock under his breath.

It was so like Charles to 'forget' to mention certain important details that he wasn't even sure why he was surprised. To think he had been marginally happy to be included in the ritual and not left behind like a little kid.

The salt couldn't have any traces of magic other than the one doing the invoking so he was stuck with moving sacks by hand instead of just floating them into place. He understood the benefits of the ritual, he really did, but it didn't stop him from feeling apprehensive about it. There were no books to research the subject or any other way to verify Charles' claims. Tom only had his word that the ritual will work as intended. Not that he didn't trust Charles, he did. He was here after all. But he didn't like to go blind to this sort of situation.

The prison was unplottable and discovering the location would be difficult, not impossible, because nothing was ever impossible, but _very_ difficult. It would have probably taken them years just to find it. But secrets were not meant to be kept from the dead, only from the living. The dead will know where the prison was.

Then there was the problem of bypassing all of the security measures, which they wouldn't know until they were confronted with them. Walking blindly in and without backup was suicidal, Tom didn't need Charles to know this. They needed others, that was clear, but who would follow two eight year-olds on a suicide mission for the rescue of two unimportant civilians that may or may not be dead?

But this was Charles and Tom knew that there was nothing he would not do to get what he wanted, how he wanted it and when he wanted it. He was that obstinate. No obstacle or prison was strong enough to keep him from what he wanted.

Tom knew this with the surety that he knew that if anyone tried to hurt something Charles valued, heads would roll. If anyone managed to actually hurt them, vengeance would be drawn-out and brutal. These were simple facts of life. And instead of scaring Tom, they comforted him.

To the bad fortune of strangers, this was not a well-known fact. Something the snotty rich girl from Abby's class found out after she had stuffed Abby in a cupboard and let her there for five hours. The teacher that used the rod on Penny because she was 'too spoiled' also found out too late and had to suddenly transfer to Africa on a good-will mission.

Yes, Tom was fairly sure that at the end of the night they would have Charles' parents. But that precisely was what was bothering him. Things will surely change if they found them tonight. The cottage was much too small for six people and they'll have to move again.

Unless they squished in. But he had no intention of sharing his room with both girls. The attic was an option as an extra room now that the ceiling was higher or the room that the Malfoys constructed that housed all of their books but even that would be uncomfortable. The table had only four chairs and he wasn't going to give up his chair.

He didn't want to move from the house. He didn't want extra people on the house either. He liked the creaky stairs, the noisy doors, and the bed he made that has his initials.

They didn't need parents either. They were fine as they were. Parents made everything worse. They ruined everything. What if they didn't want to pay the extremely expensive private classes he received because no teacher wanted to deal with him after the first week and that asked for a pay raises almost daily?

What if…no, they wouldn't, but…what if they made him sleep in his own bed? That would be horrible. It has taken him forever to get Charles to stop throwing him off the bed, levitating him to the other bed or cursing him.

But they could do worse things. Much worse than changing their sleeping arrangements. Unthinkable things almost. What if they didn't like him and took him back to the orphanage?

Charles wouldn't permit it, surely, but these were his parents. Parents overruled children. And Charles loved his parents. He'd want to please them.

After what he did to Mrs Cole she would surely starve him. Or beat him. Or throw him to the streets. He didn't want to sleep on the streets with the rest of the lowlifes. At least in the orphanage he had the possibility of food. On the streets there would be no food. He would die hungry, alone and dirty. His body left to rot on an unnamed grave.

No. _No_, that will not happen. He had magic this time. He was not helpless like before. But you cannot conjure food. He could steal. Make himself invisible and steal. But he would still be alone. Without a bed and all alone. Somehow being alone was the worst part. Because he knew he'd be fine if Charles was him and they had to live on the streets because then he wouldn't be alone.

'_Oh God, please let them be dead,' _He pleaded.

"You are thinking too loud and I can tell it's something stupid." Charles remarked. Tom looked up from the patch of ground his eyes had been staring blankly to see Charles in front of him, resting against the shovel he had been using to move the salt and looking at him. He had mud on his nose from where he had scratched it.

"Promise."

Charles scrunched his eyebrows in confusion and asked, "What do you want me to promise?"

"That you won't leave me. Ever. No matter if your parents demand it. No matter if Abby asks you to. No matter if you want to."

Charles walked forward until he was right in front of Tom, his boots splashing on the mud and the shovel dropping to the ground. "Where is all this coming from?" Charles asked seriously. Charles black hair was brown with dried mud, long sleeves rolled till his elbows and trousers up to the knees in mud. He could easily blend with the background were not for his face and glasses.

"_Promise_, Charles." Tom demanded.

Charles, still looking confused, studied his face. Tom let Charles study him in tense silence. Charles did this often, be silent as he thought how to best respond, and Tom knew he had to keep quiet and wait him out, not rush him.

Whatever answer Charles found after the intense study of his face seemed sufficient because he looked down, smiled, passed a hand thru his muddy and sweaty hair, looked at Tom in the eyes and said, "I promise to be with you as long as you want me there. I also promise to punch you if you ever get too annoying and tell you when you are being a prat. I also promise to get your head out of your bum when you get stuck there and to bring you back to Earth when your ego causes you to float to outer space. This I solemnly swear."

This heartfelt speech was received with an irritated scowl from Tom. Charles couldn't help it anymore, he laughed. This seemed to be the last straw because Tom pushed him to the mud. But instead of going quietly Charles tightly grabbed Tom and fell with him. After a short, but intense, struggle both were completely covered in mud and a lot more relaxed.

"Seriously," Charles said to Tom while one hand was still shoving mud inside Tom's shirt and Tom was trying to kick him but couldn't because Charles was on top of his legs, "I'd miss your neurosis. And your psychosis. And your senseless jealousy. Well, maybe not the jealousy, but I'd probably miss the fights. Abby doesn't like to fight and Penny is too small to do anything fun."

"I feel so loved."

Charles was impressed he didn't choked with the amount of sarcasm that dripped from his voice. Tom had stopped trying to kick Charles so Charles felt it was safe to get up now. When he blinked, he was on his back, seeing the stars on the cloudless sky, he figured he had underestimated the time needed for Tom to cool down. Charles smiled at the sky; glad things had gone back to normal.

Charles looked at the other fallen figure besides him, his glasses were too muddy to be able to let him see details, and said, "Tom you are my best friend."

"I'm your only friend." Tom pointed out.

"True. So I'd be a friendless loser if you ever left."

"So you need me." Tom half stated, half asked, with an unnoticeable tremor of insecurity. Charles couldn't see him but knew that Tom was carefully looking at his expression.

"I need you." Charles assured him.

Charles got up and offered his hand to Tom, which Tom took and got up. Tom looked in distaste at his sullied clothes and valiantly tried to take the excess mud off.

"I can't believe I'm doing something historic in this state of disarray."

Charles raised an eyebrow at him. "Somehow I don't think they'll mind."

"Why can't I be the invoker?" Tom asked, with what he'll deny was a pout.

"Because you have not killed in battle or defeated a foe in a death battle," Charles responded simply.

"So all I do is hold your hand? You could have used Penelope for that."

"Tom if you let go I'll be forever trapped in another Realm. You are my anchor. I'm sorry that saving my life and existence is not more exciting." Charles said, and it came out more sharply than he had intended.

"You know I did not mean it like that."

"Sure you didn't." Charles took off his glasses and started cleaning them with the inside of his shirt. When that didn't work he took his water flask out and dropped a little water to clean them.

"I didn't." Tom said a little more forceful.

"Come on, let's get this over with."

Charles walked off to the central circle without waiting for Tom. Tom, after angrily kicking the mud, followed him. Charles was finishing the central circle.

The salt circles were simply impressive. Suddenly the muddy, unremarkable terrain twinkled with magic and possibilities. The stars seemed brighter, the air crisp, and his sweaty body started shivering with the cold that descended once the last circle was completed. The pure white salt sparkled in sharp contrast to the dark night, hunted trees and yellow full moon. The rings were almost the size of a house each and interlocked with each other in beautiful and complicated pattern that held no significance to Tom.

A tinkling music started playing, unnoticeable at first, but it started growing in volume until it drowned all other sound. It was in his ears, in his heart, in his breath, it was inside him, around him and all over. Inescapable, loud and overwhelming.

Suddenly he didn't want to be alone anymore and ran the rest of the way until he was in front of Charles. Charles was glassy eyed with his shoulders slumped; as if he had an unimaginable weight in his back didn't let him stand straight, an unassuming music box opened at his feet. Tom knew Charles wasn't seeing him anymore and that they weren't alone anymore. Tom couldn't see anyone but could feel their eyes on him and the slight movement in the air that indicated someone passing by. He felt thousands of eyes on his back, surveying him, judging him and weighting his worth. The weight of those eyes was palpable. He shivered and inched closer to Charles.

He noticed, a little belatedly, that Charles was glowing and starting to rise in the air, his eyes tightly closed in a pained expression. He took Charles' hand and almost let it go. He couldn't help the whimper that escaped his mouth. _It burned_. Too much magic and it was burning his skin, traveling his body and wreaking havoc with his own magic. But he still held on tightly, almost crushing Charles' hand.

Tom started doing something he'd sworn he'd never do. He started giving magic back. Back to whatever place magic came from because it was simply too much. A memory of Charles saying 'too much of a good thing is still too much' and of him not agreeing came to mind.

A circle formed, the magic travelled from the Earth to Charles to Tom to the Earth and back to Charles. But the levels were a more manageable level and Tom sighed in relief at the same time that Charles opened his eyes.

Charles' eyes were glowing with a burning blue that not even his spelled glasses could hide and he was now floating a few inches with his back straight, facing an invisible audience fearlessly. Or not so invisible anymore. Tom started seeing shapes forming, vaguely resembling humans.

The circles were glowing, casting eerie white light to the night. A fog covered the grounds and shadows started appearing. Real shadows, the ones that indicated something tangible was distorting the light. They were speaking, Tom was startled to realize, not in any language he could understand but it was clear that they were speaking.

He looked at Charles to see his reaction to this and held his breath. He looked beautiful, hypnotic almost. Relaxed but fierce, powerful but unthreatening, standing tall and proud like a king but humble like a peasant in front of a storm.

Prepared to ride the storm instead of fighting it, Tom realized. Letting the assembled jury see him for all he was and judge his actions without reservation, confident in his victory.

The strange murmuring stopped and the music reached a fever pitch until abruptly it also stopped. It seemed like Charles passed the test because the human shadows turned into real, breathing men. And there were hundreds of them; they covered the entire field, dressed in leather and fur with primitive looking weapons in their hands. The only circle untouched was the one he and Charles stood.

The Einherjar stood proudly before them. Einherjar were fighters that had died in battle and brought to the Realm of Valhalla by Valkyries, the Realm wanderers, orchestrated by the wizard Odin that once did an Unbreakable Vow to Freyja.

The apparent leader said something to Charles and Charles responded in the same, harsh sounding language. A thunderous cheer was heard across the field. Charles smiled and his smile was bloodthirsty, full of dark sensuality and the promise of mayhem. Still smiling, Charles looked at Tom and Tom smiled back, something close to obsession hiding in Tom's dark eyes.

Charles took a pearly white small ball from one of his many pockets and threw it high into the air. It exploded, forming a capsule than encompassed the entire field and they were whisked away.

They arrived in Germany not a moment later, the change only noticeable because of the difference in surroundings. The camera was floating behind them, taking everything. Tom assumed it was Charles doing and left it at that.

His hand, the one that had not stopped holding Charles, was sweaty and warm but it was not in pain anymore. He carefully rearranged his fingers and Charles squeezed his hand warningly. He squeezed back reassuringly. No, he was not letting go.

Charles talked, his usually mild voice sounding harsh and commanding. It resonated with power and was heard all across the empty field they had landed. He was responded, a long litany of words that meant nothing to Tom but he figured it was the location of the prison because with a blinding flash of white and a thunderclap they were gone.

Tom opened his eyes to the sight of a mountain and precariously on top was a towering, jet-black, building, Nurmengard. It looked intimidating and impenetrable with its high altitude, lack of trail, windows or doors. But the challenge seemed to excite the hundreds of savages.

Charles faced them and spoke, his voice low but clear, and Tom was sure that everyone could hear him clearly. Everyone listened with quiet intensity, on the tips of their toes. Their eyes glistening with admiration and adoration. Whatever words Charles used in his speech seemed to be the correct ones because the captive audience went wild, stomping their feet, cheering and filling the night with war cries.

Charles smiled indulgently and let them lead the way. They walked calmly behind the procession with only four behind them, two at each side and two on front, forming a protective barrier around the boys.

The first challenge they encountered was in the form of dark creatures and low-level demons. Tom watched in avid fascination as the macabre dark creatures fell one by one at the sheer number and viciousness of the Einherjar. Charles looked at him and smiled widely at his obvious pleasure. His eyes seemed to say, '_See, I told you this was going to be fun_'.

The skin of the creatures reached them and was reverently put around Charles shoulders as a cape to warn off enemies. Charles laughed merrily, his eyes dilated at the onslaught of constant raw magic and his aura an almost tangible thing clogging the air. They were calm, relaxed and content but it was hard not to be with the amount of magic cursing thru their veins. And like a drug to the addict, they couldn't get enough, even if they knew that too much could kill them.

Dementors came next, a whole horde of them. Each of them ten feet high and covered in dark hooded cloaks. They chilled the night and blocked the view of the sky but for whatever reason they did not attack and they passed uncontested. Tom assumed it had something to do about the Einherjar being technically dead or their souls already claimed. That or that the only happy thought in the fallen fighters heart and soul was of death and doom.

In what seemed like no time at all, they were in front of enormous doors with the motto 'For the Greater Good' proudly carved on top. The Einherjars in front were already far in the process of destroying the doors and Charles had his eyes closed, chanting under his breath to dissipate the wards. Charles opened his eyes and the doors exploded inwards with a booming crash. Tom suddenly felt sorry for the people responsible of incarcerating Charles' parents. Charles was not showing mercy tonight.

A black mist covered them and even if they could clearly see their surroundings Tom suspected no one would be able to see them. The first fifty of their legion entered the building and the rest organized itself around both boys, leaving them protected from all sides. They moved slowly and the destruction caused by the Einherjar seemed to know no bounds. They cared very little about their own safety so they made ferocious opponents to all the demons guarding the prison that challenged the group.

Those that did not fought, human or creature, were left unharmed. Well, mostly unharmed, Tom mentally corrected when he saw one Einherjar smack in the bottom one of the human guards and laugh raucously.

Tom's vision was seriously blocked by the amount of human bodies pressing against him so the amount of fighting he saw was minimal. He was trying to stand on his toes and look over the shoulders of the men, and he was surprised to see, women, in front of him but Charles' sharp tug and frown was enough to keep him still. It was not wise to fight with Charles when he was powerful enough to break down wards like they were bothersome spider webs.

The camera was still flying around, taking every detail, so maybe he'll be able to see the footage of the carnage later. He tried not to stomp his foot in annoyance and pout but it was a close thing. Charles thumb tracing small calming circles told Tom that his small tantrum had not gone unnoticed and he noticeably calmed. This was not the time or place to act like a spoiled child.

Some of the prisoners were freed while others were left behind following Charles' commands. The freed prisoners left with a flash of white and a confused expression, thinking that when their door had been ripped open from the hinges they would die, not be transported and terrified of where they were taking them. Tom saw the moment when Charles carelessly dropped the brooch and hoped Charles plan truly worked. He did not want to see the restoration bill for this place.

They reached the top floor and by the way Charles breath hitched, Tom knew they had found what they had come looking for. Charles hand trembled in Tom's; shaking so badly that Tom had to hold it with both hands to make sure they stayed in contact.

Charles breathing was also rapid and erratic and this time not even magic could calm him down. Tom risked a glance inside the dark, damp cell and with all his might hoped that they were dead. It might make him a horrible person but he hardly cared. He wanted them dead. Everything would be better, easier, if they were simply found dead.

Just like when he asked for a family member to rescue him from the orphanage, his pleas went unanswered. They were alive, barely, but alive. With a flash, the four of them left.

Leaving behind disaster and mayhem for another to deal with. The Einherjar will fight, destroy and create mayhem until the Valkyries, creatures that could travel the space in between Realms, called them back at sunrise.

-0-

They arrived directly inside St. Mungo's hospital. If this was possible or not under normal circumstances, Tom was not sure, but he doubted it.

Charles was holding up what Tom assumed was an old lady, while Tom had one arm wrapped around a tall, skeletal man. If Tom squinted he could almost imagine that this was an adult version of Charles. It was scary actually, how much this man resembled Charles. The colour of the eyes, the glasses and some details aside, they were identical. But while Charles looked like the son of royalty, this man looked like a good-looking farmer.

Since Tom couldn't let go of Charles hand until sunrise, less he loses him for eternity, it was awkward moving forwards to the reception room from the entrance.

Somehow they made it without much trouble and sat the couple down on the white reception chairs. Charles moved towards the reception lady and pulled Tom along, his hand still shaking with tremors even if his visage was calm. Charles was given the usual papers to fill out and a quill. He started filling them like they were another war to wage.

Tom looked around, there were two others in the reception room. A lady that had a plant growing out of her foot and an unfortunate woman that had the head of a man protruding out her stomach. The head of the man was angrily fighting with her and she looked ready to carve her stomach out.

They were told to wait for their turn and they shuffled back to the newly freed prisoners. The woman, Charles mother, barely looked human. Her hair was pure white and reached her knees, her skin was pasty and wrinkled, her eyes hazy and unfocused but she still grabbed Charles arm when he was close enough and did not let go.

The man, Frank, he now remembered the name, had fallen asleep on the chair, tears running down his face. He had greying hair, but only looked twenty years older than he was supposed to be; instead of the one hundred more than he was wife had obtained in the two years of prison.

In five minutes the two other patients were called in and they kept waiting. Ten minutes later someone arrived and five minutes later they were called in. Charles walked up to the front, with Tom behind, frowning.

"Excuse me, is there not a Healer available?" Tom could tell that Charles tried to make the request sound mild, but it still came out authoritative and commanding, full of magic and dark promises of what was to come if she didn't produce a Healer _now_.

The receptionist had looked up with a bored expression but whatever she saw in Charles' eyes was enough to convince her to get up and find a Healer post-haste. Three people entered in the time that it took the receptionist to come back, Healer in tow. The man seemed to be arguing with the receptionist as they approached.

"I'm sorry but as the receptionist should have told you, creatures and muggles are not treated with priority and as you can see there are three people on line before them. You'll just have to wait your turn."

"Creatures?" Charles asked softy and Tom felt a deep chill run thru his back.

"Yes, yes, the animal you want me to treat."

"Are you referring to my mother as an animal?" Charles asked quietly, too quietly. Tom had a very bad feeling. The receptionist seemed to share his feeling of impending doom because she inched away from the Healer.

"Veela isn't she? Same thing."

Tom closed his eyes.


	26. Chapter 26: Peace

Chapter 26: Peace

_It is easier to lead men to combat, stirring up their passion, than to restrain them and direct them toward the patient labours of peace. -Andre Gide_

One month later, June 1935.

Tom entered the hospital room to find Charles exactly where, and as, Tom had expected him to be. On an uncomfortable hospital-issued chair, his black hair plastered with dried sweat from that morning's routine with the Malfoys and with the same clothes he had worn for two days. An opened book rested on his lap, a quill had fallen on the floor from his lax hand. His neck was in an uncomfortable angle, his head hanging back, and his breathing soft and even. His mouth was partially open and his eyes were not quite closed.

Tom dropped his satchel on the floor, along with his outer coat and walked towards the sleeping boy without even bothering to look at the bed that held Charles' mother. Tom had just finished with his last class for the day and had left the demons at Martha's. They had not been to the hospital yet since Frank and Annabelle had not woken for the first three weeks and then they had been under the effects of countless of potions.

Frank had received three amputations, two toes and one finger, which he wouldn't be able to grow back because of his lack of innate magic. Annabelle had a serious blood infection and her condition worsened after a Healer not familiar with her case gave her a potion than causes an allergic reaction to Veela's. Annabelle lost part of her hearing do to that careless mistake. In the Healer's defence, veelas and any other part-human are kept in a different part of the hospital, a depressing communal room that stinks of sickness and death. But Charles had refused to let his mother be treated by the interns that used part-humans to practice and learn their craft.

Tom took the book Charles had been reading from his lap and put it away. With one hand underneath Charles' arm he heaved Charles up and moved him to the couch. Other than dropping his head on Tom's shoulder, Charles did not moved. Tom rearranged their bodies so they could both fit comfortably on the couch, Charles head resting in his chest and Tom's back against the arm of the sofa.

"He doesn't like to be touched," a raspy voice said, startling Tom who thought she was still in a potion induced sleep.

"Pardon?"

"Charles, he doesn't like to be touched when he's sleeping." She looked old, her voice weary and her face drained. Tom looked at her and thought of dried raisons.

Tom did not respond but passed his fingers through Charles hair. Charles did not stir.

She smiled a little sadly, "I guess things have changed."

July 1935,

"Mama, Abby really wants to see you," Charles told her. He sat in an uncomfortable chair besides her bed in the hospital.

Charles has never quite hated a colour or thought such a thing worthy of hate. But he hated the colour white with a burning passion that left him feeling dizzy. Constantly entering the hospital and seeing White walls and White floors with White ceiling and White sheets has made white his all time hated colour. He always entered with stomach pain, sweaty palms and straight back from the stress of always thinking that this day may be the day they tell him his parents died while he was away. Now the feeling of uneasiness, nervousness and fear was associated with the most prominent feature of the hospital, the colour white.

"I'm not well enough Charles. Maybe some other time." This was not the first time she said this but it was the first time Charles pressed on.

"Mama, you'll be discharged next week. The Healers say you are as healthy as you can be, given the situation. Dad misses you too." _I miss you._

"I don't want them to see me like this," She whispered, looking at the window and cleaning a traitorous tear.

"They don't care how you look. _We_ don't care how you look."

"I care alright!" Charles tried not to be hurt by the sharp tone. She was under a heavy influence of potions that made her prone to anger and rapid mood changes, "It might seem a silly thing to care about, after everything that has happened, but I care."

Charles looked at her sadly.

"Don't you understand Charles?" She looked at him imploringly with a hint of desperation, "She will see me and think me a monster. She will be scared of me."

Charles did not hear the silent '_I think I look like a monster'_ in her words, too focused in convincing her to break from her self-imposed exile to notice what she was saying.

"I already told Abby that you look different. She understands."

"I know my daughter. She won't be able to look at me. I…I want my husband to look at me and think I'm beautiful. I don't want to look at the mirror every day and _remember_. How can I overcome this if I am forced to live like this for the rest of my life?" She asked him with desperation, her eyes diluted from the amount of pain potions she had.

_We all have to live with the scars, and the constant reminders that we are not whole. That things have happened and that they have changed us_, Charles wanted to say to her but he did not dare. This was his mother.

"Adding more potions or magic to your system is not good for you, mama," Charles reminded her instead.

"I'm going to die anyway," She said with a petulant voice that did not quite hide her fear.

"No you're not." Charles told her fiercely, grabbing her small paper-thin hand in his. It felt like if he squeezed too hard he could break the small, bird-like bones.

"Do not lie to me Charles Gustav!" She told him sharply, and it was such a familiar phrase that at another time, in another conversation, he might have smiled sadly, "I know very well that I'm going to die, either because of what the curse did to my body or poisoned because of the high dose of potions I have to take daily."

"I do not want to lose you." Charles told her tearfully, looking down at his lap. He noted with exceptional detail the folds and colours on his clothes as only the mind tended to do in stressful situations. He knew he wouldn't be able to forget the clothes he was wearing this day even if he lived to be two hundred.

She took both of his hands and waited until he looked up. Her anger had disappeared but the fire remained strong in her eyes, "And I do not want to live in a bed, my son. I rather die than live my life feeling like a corpse and looking like a monster."

Charles swallowed hard. She reached out to him and he buried his head in her shoulder, crying. "It will kill you," he told her brokenly. Her vanity will kill her and he was not ready to lose her.

"I know. But it will give us a few years of happiness, and that's better than a lifetime of bitterness."

Charles nodded to show her that he understood her point. He considered ignoring her wishes. She was in medication and he could argue that not in her right mind, but ultimately he decided that it was her choice and not his to make, "I will tell the Healers of your decision. Body altering potions cannot be taken with pain potions."

"I birthed you, child, I can handle pain." Charles nodded to her shoulder, "Do not be sad, my love, I had years to prepare myself for death."

Charles was too distraught to think about this passing comment.

-0-

When he arrived from the hospital it was already late. The cottage was dark; everyone was staying at Martha's but Charles was not prepared to face his sister. Charles opened the door his room with the full expectation that it would be empty only to get startled by a voice.

"Charles?" Charles cursed loudly in a few languages until his heartbeat went back to a more normal pace.

"Abraxas! What the hell are you doing here?" Charles demanded, "I could have killed you, you dimwit."

"I'm just, you know, teaching a House Elf how to read," Abraxas said from his position in Charles' bed in the dark room. He was looking out the window, the white moonlight highlighting his pale skin and silvery blond hair in sharp contrast to the dark.

Charles walked closer and stood next to Abraxas but instead of looking out, Charles looked at his face, "What happened to your face?" he asked and even before the question was completely out of his mouth he felt downright stupid for asking. Abraxas smiled sadly, his smile reflected on the window.

Charles sat besides him on the bed, their shoulders and legs brushing and also looked out the window. Charles was going to miss the breath taking view he had begun to take for granted.

The silence was oppressing with all the things that were left unsaid.

"I'm sorry." Charles finally said, not really knowing what else to say.

Abraxas shrugged his shoulders and they stayed there, in the dark, for what felt like eternity without speaking, both lost to their thoughts.

At first Abraxas had hated Charles. The envy he had felt every time his father looked at Charles with approval had threatened to drown him. He was not sure when his hate had changed to something else or how it had happened because it had not been a big, single event. It had been more like a series of small events, a shared smile over a joke, talking while running, eating breakfast and fighting over the best sport.

Or it could have been that Charles was simply there, every day, and was the only person who knew, truly knew, how dysfunctional his family was. It was too tiring to sustain hatred and envy on a daily basis. Especially went Charles went over his way to make him feel comfortable and made him smile with his choked laugh and stupid, idealistic way of thinking.

Tonight Abraxas had not even thought of another place to go. Firstly, because he had no other place to go, no friend or family that would take him in the middle of the night without his parents' consent. And secondly because it was the only place he had wanted to be, as weird as that might have been at one point. Even this dingy old cottage had grown on him and he was sad that it would be abandoned soon.

Abraxas looked at Charles' perfect face and was glad that this infuriating boy had stumbled to his lonely life and made it a little less lonely. He could not quite call them friends but he was hopeful that someday he'd have the close relationship that Tom had with Charles and that Abraxas envied. They always had someone to lean on and he had no one. No friend that wanted him for another reason than because he was a Malfoy and their parents forced them to spend time with him. No cousin or uncle or grandfather that visited with gifts and stories.

The silence stretched until Charles said, "Come," and grabbed Abraxas' hand when he refused to move and guided him downstairs.

Charles pushed Abraxas to a sit in the kitchen and went around gathering their first aid equipment for Abraxas' blue eye and cheek. Charles could heal the bruise and shallow cut by magic but so could Abraxas and he hadn't done it yet. Magic could not heal the true scars that hid behind the shallow cut and bruise. Human touch was the kind of balm Abraxas was seeking.

The smell of disinfectant made Charles wrinkle his nose in distaste. Memories of the day in the hospital and the horrible conversation were still fresh on his mind.

"For what its worth, and I know is not worth much, he is trying."

Charles held his face still when Abraxas flinched from the alcohol sting.

"I know" Abraxas said quietly, "He has been better." And he had, his father was almost unrecognizable at times. He had taken Abraxas to quidditch games and dragon reserves, going as far as cancelling meetings to spend time with him.

"Did something happen?" Charles asked hesitantly while he applied a cream around Abraxas' eye.

"He found my bug collection." The flat tone from the normally passionate boy alarmed Charles. Abraxas was loud and impassioned, he hated and loved and screamed like a banshee and Charles would not change a thing about him. He was nothing like Hyperion but the tone he used just now reminded Charles of his father.

"Let me guess, collecting bugs is not an approved activity for Heirs of the Noble and Ancient House of Malfoy?" Charles said sardonically. Charles was happy to see that his mocking brought a small smile to Abraxas' face. More quietly Charles asked, "Did he destroy it?"

Abraxas' smile faded and he closed his face once more, "Yes."

"I'm sorry."

Charles knew that his bug collection had been a prized possession, something Abraxas had worked on for years and was truly passionate about. Charles worked on healing Abraxas face quietly, extending the process much more than necessary but not knowing what else to do.

"I could help you build it again," Charles offered quietly, uncertain how Abraxas would take it. His collection had been something personal for him. Something that had been his and his alone. A special hidden treasure that he had only shared with Charles.

"Yeah?" Abraxas asked with growing excitement.

"Yeah, it could be our secret." Charles didn't want problems with Hyperion and this was outside of what his contract allowed him to do.

Abraxas traced a finger under Charles' puffy and red eyes and Charles flinched at the unexpected contact. Abraxas dropped his hand. "Were you crying before?"

"Yes," Charles admitted, looking away a bit and busying himself with putting away all the potions.

"Was it your mom?" Abraxas asked and Charles nodded, "Is she not getting better?"

"She is but I'm rather worried about her."

"My mom is back at home," Abraxas shared, "She's trying." There was careful hope in his voice.

"I'm glad."

September 1935,

"Oh, he was an impossible child." Annabelle exclaimed with a brilliant smile. The previously white hair was now a normal shade of gold and furiously curly, her cheeks were a healthy colour if not a little sunken. She looked relatively young and healthy again but her inherited otherworldly beauty was long gone and she was still extremely thin and fragile looking. There was a limit to what potions could do with the amount of damage her body had sustained.

"Abigael needed special care, yes, but Charles…Charles needed to have ten eyes on him at all times. I would look away for a second, only to find him on top of a three-meter tree chatting with the birds as if it was the most normal thing in the world. It was a miracle I did not suffered from a heart attack."

Tom sent an amused smile to a mortified Charles. They were sitting in the solar of the south wing of their English Manor. The dome glass ceiling and walls still needed a good wash and the plants were in a state of chaos, but it was by far the most impressive room in the whole manor.

Sounds of hammering and people talking and working could be heard from the other rooms and seen working on the grounds. No less than a hundred workers had been in and out of the place for months, bringing the old and abandoned manor to its former glory.

After the extensive restoration, a permanent staff will be needed to run the manor on a daily basis. Abigael and Penelope were with Frank exploring the grounds and making themselves a nuisance to the workers.

"He was a little nightmare." Annabelle continued, "When he was smaller, barely able to walk, he would get bored and if Charles was unhappy he made sure _everyone _was unhappy."

"At least I grew out of it, unlike Tom," Charles said teasingly, Tom glared back. They sat on a small round table that had a blue and white bone china tea set with delicate finger foods. Charles was working and Tom was humouring Annabelle. The ever-present newspaper and documents with the Goblin Nation crest were in front of Charles.

"Do not interrupt your mother Charles, it's rude. Please continue Madame." Annabelle still did not respond to Mrs Winter and Tom did not feel comfortable speaking to her in first name basis.

"It was impossible for me not to know he was magical. Oh! The things he got into! I still have nightmares about it. And that was before he could walk!"

"What did he do?" Tom asked with gleeful evilness, Annabelle shared a conspiring look with Tom and continued her tale. Tom has heard this story at least fifty times.

Annabelle has trouble with her short-term memory, or so Tom assumed, because his other theory was that she was obsessed with the 'before'. But Tom indulged her on her favourite subject, her children, since he always found new things about Charles that Charles would never tell him or had been too small to remember. Tom now had material to blackmail Charles for years to come.

"I was constantly afraid of the house when he cried. He had temper tantrums fit for a king. Nothing amused him, everything bothered him and he cried like someone was torturing him. There was that time he got sick, he must have been two, and was stuck inside for a week. Let me tell you, I almost cried with him. It was horrible." She smiled fondly at Charles and it was impossible not to notice the love.

"Or I would wake up in the morning and find everything round," She continued, "the windows of his room, the fireplace, everything. He was partial to circles at that time. Or find him on the roof, drooling and reaching for the clouds. Or my stairs could suddenly talk, my fine jewellery dance, or if he didn't like my 'no' I stopped talking. He was a menace. I cannot think of who would think that it was a good idea to give magic to a child. Certainly not a mother."

A protest from Charles went happily ignored.

"I had to start teaching him small things very early to entertain him and then he would get bored of those too. He learned to read and write, then he learned to play the Violin, then a second language, and then the piano. It was impossible to keep up with him."

"You did an admirable job," Tom complimented. It was apparent that Annabelle had been highly educated for a woman. Strange. Must be a Veela thing.

"Charles was our wild child. He was the loveliest baby I have ever seen, but I was always so very glad to get him asleep." She patted Charles knees with her hand.

Charles looked sullen.

"What changed?" Tom asked with a curious tilt of his head, because he hardly recognized the child Charles had been with the boy he was now.

"Well, that. Even as a child, Charles had been highly independent. I knew I would lose him eventually. Charles was much too…_alive_, for the simple and secluded lifestyle we had chosen. Abby, well Abby was happier to stay where she was. She learned at slower pace than Charles and did not give us half as much trouble. I think that Charles often times got a little jealous of the treatment she received. He did not play well with her, more often than not, ignored her. This was sad for me because I had hoped for a playmate for Abigael. Birthing Charles had almost killed me."

Charles looked sharply at his mother. Charles hadn't known this, Tom could tell. The potions on Annabelle's system often made her say much more than was necessary. Not the high dose she had when in the hospital but high enough to loosen her tongue and cloud her judgement. The doses of potions she takes will progressively get lower until she stops taking them all together.

"One day, they had been fighting," She continued with a far-away look and Tom discreetly inched closer to hear better, she had not spoken about this before and Charles looked distinctly uncomfortable, "they fought often so I thought nothing of it at the time, but then Abby screamed in pain and I ran towards them. For a horrible moment I thought Charles had killed her. He had not, of course, but he had hurt her terribly."

"On purpose?" Tom prodded. He was having trouble believing that Charles could hurt Abigael, no matter how mad he had been or how young. Charles loved his sister more than anything in the world and made it abundantly clear that no one could mess with her except him.

"Goodness no! It was an accident, of course. He had only been four. Children that age do not know the consequences of their actions and have no control of their magic. Even if he had been mad, he had not meant to hurt her. But I think that early experience with the serious consequences of his actions and anger changed him. He was calmer after that, seldom got mad and rarely left her side. I think he never truly forgave himself for hurting her." Annabelle was completely absorbed in her memory and Tom had a feeling she had forgotten she was not alone. It was not uncommon.

Charles was not looking at his mother, but directly at Tom. Tom stared back at his black haired, blue-eyed friend for over two years. Tom thought back on all the times when, in his opinion, Abigael did something unforgivable and Charles had forgiven her in an instant.

Previously not understood biting comments from Charles and Abigael's fights now had new meanings. Words said by Abigael in anger that held no meaning for Tom but had destroyed Charles suddenly made sense. His new perspective changed nothing but his understanding of Charles' eternal well of patience towards his sister.

Charles excused himself shortly after and Annabelle continued to be in her world. Tom sat looking at the windows without seeing them.

"You know, I always knew they'll try to take him away from me." Tom looked at Annabelle, she was still off in her potion-induced world, "He was too powerful and I was afraid they'll find us, deemed me an unfit mother for my inability to control him and take him away. And I couldn't, you know, control him. If Charles had wished me and Frank away in a fit of anger there is not telling what would have happened and we had no way of stopping him. The only thing I could do was teach him to be good and hope to God that was enough."

-0-

Annabelle and Frank were having difficulties adjusting to the new environment and their place in it. They seemed confused and uncomfortable with their now rich environment after having lived in austerity for so long. Interactions with their children were strained. Said children resembled very little to the ones they had raised. Abigael, now a twelve year old whose sole motherly influence had been the dubious influence of her etiquette instructor, fondly called The Dragon by Charles. Abigael talked about royalty, princes, gowns and jewels. To Frank she seemed to be talking in another language even when she was speaking perfect German.

Charles was even more of an enigma to them. They found Tom slightly unnerving, even if they couldn't exactly explain why. Penelope, with her oblivious constant blabbering and needy personality was usually greeted as welcomed relief from the awkward tension and stilted conversation.

"Mama, you shouldn't be overtaxing yourself. We have a cook and two kitchen helpers for that," Charles told her.

"Tonight is special and I want to cook for you. Go play with Tom, I need to be focused now." She was comparing two similar knives that had two completely different uses with a perplexed expression. "No explosives in the house," she said, almost as an afterthought.

"Yes mama."

…

"I wasn't familiar with a lot of the spices and vegetables so I had to experiment a little. What do you think?" Annabelle asked with a hopeful expression and an insecure posture. The five at the dinner table on the small dinning room took a tentative bite. The careful hope in Annabelle's face quickly morphed into despair at their pained expressions.

"It's horrible isn't?" She asked with a tremble in her tone and misty eyes. She looked ready to cry.

"No, no, it's wonderful." Frank assured her, grabbing a full mouthful and swallowing. Loud exclamations in agreement soon followed.

"Here Abby, I made your favourite and no vegetables." Annabelle said with a soft smile.

"That's alright mama, I like vegetables now."

"You do?" Annabelle asked surprised, "Well then," She forced a smile, "Here then." She passed a bowl of greens that Abigael gratefully took.

-0-

For a while no one knew how to behave around each other. When Frank and Annabelle had been too sick to notice the world around them it had been easier. But then they got better and started asking questions. Where had the money come from? Who bought this house? Whose name is on the House deed? What does your job entail?

Tom discovered that Charles and Frank were equally strong, opinionated and stubborn, and not in a good way. Frank was usually quiet; he seldom spoke and blended in the background easily, so it was always a shock hear him raise his voice. The first time he had spoken sharply to Charles, Tom had seen that Charles did not blink for over a minute, his eyes sparkling with unshed tears, but Charles had swallow them and his father never noticed the effects of his bad mood on his son.

The strange pseudo-peace seemed to come to an end when Frank met Hyperion Malfoy in a disastrous dinner. Frank had outright asked Malfoy if he was giving his son money for sexual favours. Frank accused Charles of selling his body for money and asked if he had done the same to Abigael. The silence had been deafening. Frank had shouted that he did not want _that man_ in his house and Charles had quietly asked '_your house?_'

It had not ended well.

Tom has never seen Charles look as angry or as hurt. Annabelle had slapped Frank. She ushered Charles and Tom out of the room and yelled at her husband for hours.

"Charles?" Tom called quietly in the dark room. He heard a rustle of sheets and quickly padded to the bed and climbed. Tom crawled to Charles on the centre of the bed and covered them completely with the blankets.

Blankets had a special sort of power. Once covered in them completely, you were safe from everything. Monsters couldn't get in and the outside world couldn't touch you. Only them existed in this dark, secluded world. Charles had his eyes wide open, looking up and tracing the pattern of the blanket. Tom watched him, wishing there was more he could do.

Tom felled asleep and woke to the feel of Charles fingers running on his side. After a moment he understood that Charles was imitating playing the piano. Tom closed his eyes and concentrated on following the movements on his skin and started hearing the music in his mind. A sad melody that told Tom more of what Charles was feeling than words ever could.

Frank apologized the day after and the matter was partially dropped. But peace was not in the horizon; Charles and Frank quickly found other things to fight about. The most prominent one being Charles close relationship with Tom, which apparently was _too close_ for Frank's comfort.

As much as Charles hated fighting with his newly found parents he hated even more his father's try at regaining control over his life. Charles did not leave his job with the Malfoys as Frank had demanded and hugged Tom close whenever Frank was in the room to spite him. Or acted like a girl. Tom had to admit that Charles made a great imitation of being a girl. The way Charles walked, talked and acted were the flawless imitation of a girl. Even Penelope had a hard time acting as girly as Charles. Frank was not amused.

Tom was deliriously happy that Charles had chosen him over his father and that he was willing to fight with his father in order to keep him close. Tom, having never socialized with anyone other than Charles, did not understand why his relationship with Charles bothered Frank or what was wrong with being close to his only friend. Tom understood why a boy acting like a girl might bother Frank but not what that had to do with him.

Annabelle had told Tom that Frank and Charles fought because they were too much alike. They both wanted to be in control and independent and Frank did not like that his not yet ten-year-old son had surpassed him. But Tom suspected it was more than that.

Annabelle usually tried to keep the peace and constantly reminded Charles that it was a hard transition for them. The country, the customs, the language, the house were all new and unfamiliar. Frank had also been the sole provider and man of the house. That he was unaccustomed to doing nothing and not being needed. Annabelle told Charles that it was not nice to antagonize Frank. Charles had defended his point of view of equality and Annabelle had told him he was too much of a dreamer but to never change.

Annabelle spoke with Frank and whatever she told him behind closed doors seemed to calm him down, even if the Malfoys became a taboo subject. Charles and Tom kept being as close as ever but Charles stopped tormenting his father by insinuating a closer relationship than there was whenever Frank entered the room.

But even then, Tom could see that Frank was disturbed with their closeness. Annabelle only lamented that Tom was not a girl so that Charles and he could always be together. Tom told her he was very glad not to be girl and that he and Charles will always be together, without understanding her other connotations. The only thing Tom knew was that Charles cared for him even when no one else did and in ways that he doubted anyone else would. And that was more than worth fighting for and more important than Frank or anyone else's discomfort. His thoughts that parents ruined everything and were not truly needed seemed as the only truth.

Eventually, things calmed down and the constant fights stopped. Frank completely ignored what he did not like about Tom and Charles' relationship as long as they didn't do anything overt. Frank focused more on teaching them new, _manly_, things, like hunting and shooting. Frank stopped trying to force things back to the way they used to be and concerned himself in the extensive restoration of the manor that benefited from his expertise and consumed a good part of his time and mind.

-o-

"How in the world did Charles convinced you that sliding down the stairs on a tea tray was a good idea?" Annabelle asked with curiosity. Tom had broken his arm in an accident sliding down the stairs and while he will not forget about the agonizing pain any time soon, Charles' guilt and constant attention made up for the initial discomfort. Tom's arm was perfectly healed and safely enclosed in a sling to remind him to not use it for a week.

"I'm not exactly sure myself, the memory is a bit fuzzy."

"If I know my son like I think I do I'm sure there was some pouting, pleading and daring involved with maybe a slight dish of manipulation?"

"You have no idea Mrs Winter" It had been all that times three. Of course, Tom had also thought it was a fun idea at the time. Who wouldn't want to slide the stairs on a tea tray? The problem became when they decided to enhance the slippery factor by adding oil to the stairs and a convenient incline so they could pass from one staircase to another without pausing. Tom slipped when the stupid dog got in his way and he had to make a hasty turn to avoid collision at full speed.

"You know, it doesn't always have to be a competition between the two of you." Charles and he had been competing who could reach the lowest floor faster. Later, rules had been added like no using magic, no stopping, feet couldn't touch the floor and sabotage was only acceptable in straight lines, not in curves.

"Of course not Mrs Winter," _The hell it doesn't. _Tom would drop dead before he let Charles think he had the upper hand. They have been playing games of intelligence and counter-intelligence, sabotage, and one-upmanship against each other for years. It was not likely to change.

"Annabelle, darling," Annabelle corrected, more out of habit than any real hope that Tom would change his formal ways.

"Why I'm I being punished? It wasn't my idea." Tom said without bothering to hide his sourly disposition; Tom knew she wasn't going to punish him for it. He had been tasked with helping her water the flowers. It was not a hard job but the fact that he had been punished sat heavily on his stomach. They were not his parents and even if they treated him well they had no right to punish him.

"For aiding and abetting, Tom. You are a brilliant child and I still have high hopes that you will bring some sense to my reckless child. Saying 'no' once in a while to Charles might do the boy some good you know. Charles forgets that he's not invincible more often than what is healthy." More quietly she added, "He seldom hears a word I say but he listens to you."

Tom left her a while later and went to his rooms. His rooms were separated from Charles by the library but connected by a hidden door that went behind a fake wall in the library, used for spying, and entered Charles' room were a portrait served as a door. It was the reason they choose them. For one it stopped the debates over colour and decor, Tom wanted smoky dark and Charles felt claustrophobic and depressed with such a dark theme. Secondly it stopped Frank from having a heart attack over them sharing a bed and thirdly, they both needed a place to cool down after fights.

Tom dropped his things in his room and went to see what Charles was doing in his room. After a quick check he found Charles taking a bath with a hand above water holding a book. Charles did not raise his eyes from the book or in any way acknowledged Tom's presence but Tom knew that Charles was perfectly aware of who was in the room.

Charles' personal bath was inside a large room with a high vaulted ceiling and connected to his bedchamber by a side door. Originally the room had probably been a small personal chapel. Charles had put a Victorian silver clawfoot tub because the room had the best view of this side of the manor. The window took almost the entire wall and was currently opened, letting warm golden light into the room.

Tom took off his clothes and sat next to Charles on the tub. The water was tepid but Charles was warm so Tom leaned into him and Charles shifted so that they could both be comfortable. A frown on Charles' face was the only reaction at Tom's blatant disregard for his personal space but he continued to ignore Tom's presence in favour of his book.

"Read out loud," Tom demanded.

"Piss off."

"Charles I can't hold a book because I broke my arm." Predictably Charles blushed, jabbed an elbow to Tom's side and started reading out loud.

"The legend of Santa Claus. Nicholas Claus was born in 1802. He was not the inventor of the floo network but he popularized the method after his controversial case was brought to the public in 1820. He was a muggleborn who was rumoured to be obsessed with finding his way into the unsuspecting houses of magical children born to muggle parents. He used the Official List of Hogwarts to find the address of magical children. He believed that children born to non-magical parents should be told of their magical abilities at an early age. He declared a passive war against the Statue of Secrecy by skirting around it's perimeters, not outright telling the children about magic but letting them see him enter the house by the chimney. He left gifts under the evergreen to entice the children into trusting him and did some small bit of magic for them to witness. It was rumoured that he had a factory that housed thousands of House Elves in the North Pole whose sole purpose was make toys for children. Since Nicholas Claus was not a rich man he could only embark on his obsession once a year, around wintertime. He was eventually charged and sentenced to Azkaban when one of his enemies proved that he broke the Statue of Secrecy by doing magic in front of a non-magical girl that had as a brother a magical child. He spent fifteen years in prison before perishing. His son took the mantle and kept the silent rebellion against abandoning magical children to the muggle world. A few others imitated him around the world and the legend of Santa Claus was born. After a strong persecution from the Ministry of Magic that went from work harassment and job dismissal to Azkaban sentences and the Kiss the silent protest against leaving magical children unprotected and unaware of their status as magical citizens stopped. But the story lives on and…"

Charles' rich voice continued on reading and Tom dosed off. Lured to sleep by the familiarity of the moment. Neither was bothered by the nudeness of the other, long ago having gotten used to each other. It was not a unique or special moment between them. To the contrary, it was mundane and ordinary. Not something important, not something remarkable and if not for the events that followed, the moment would have been forgotten, buried under thousands of similar memories.

After for what felt like a moment to Tom, Charles woke him. The interruption of a perfectly good nap made Tom hostile and they had bickered about nothing in particular. A shove from Tom escalated to a full-blown fight.

The noise must have alerted Frank and he entered the room to find both boys naked, one on top of the other. His wrong impression was not helped when both boys stopped when they heard the door open and stared guiltily at Frank, thinking they were going to get punished again for fighting.

Frank's face was red and the veins on his neck and forehead were prominent.

"We were reading! Promise!" Charles hastened to clarify but the book had been pushed in the fight and was nowhere to be found.

"Out!"

"But-"

"I said OUT!" Frank looked ready to drag them out if necessary. Both dutifully detangled themselves and got up. Suddenly aware that they were nude and wet they started shivering and looking around for their discarded clothes.

A large hand grabbed Tom's shoulder and Tom flinched, but the hand stayed there and after the initial bout of panic passed Tom noticed that Frank was not looking at him like he wanted to beat him for being close to his son but was looking at the criss-crossing scars that covered his entire back. Tom usually forgot they were there.

Frank left him and turned his son to see Charles' back. Charles' back was even more unnerving because of the cattle brand that marred his perfect skin in the shape of a star and the array of different scars that were not only on his back but also on his chest and arms.

Frank traced the burnt skin with a finger and chocked on a sob. Frank felled on his knees and started crying, repeatedly asking for forgiveness. Charles tentatively hugged him and his father took him into a crushing hug, mumbling unintelligible words to Charles's hair. He tried to hug Tom but Tom fled before the man could touch him. Tom didn't understand the sudden mood change, but he wanted no part in it.

Never again did Frank mention their odd closeness.

-0-

**April 1936, **

Annabelle was walking around the inner garden of the West Wing of the Manor. Charles had an appointment with the Goblins, Tom had gone with him, Abigael was in her last rehearsal for the debutant ball a few weeks from now and Frank was staining the windows from the library and preparing the materials so he could later teach Charles and Tom how to do it. Long navy train from her gown followed her around and her hair was teased to perfection on the top of her head. A maid was carrying the gardening tools she was too weak to hold on her own.

"Here Marianne, I want the roses here," She pointed to her maid and friend.

Marianne looked at the spot and nodded in agreement. "A perfect place ma'am. Do you wish me to order some tea before I start?"

"Yes please, I'm feeling rather tired."

Marianne quickly and efficiently ordered tea to be brought and directed Annabelle to a sit in the shade. Annabelle was already looking pale from the walk.

"Ma'am, if you don't mind me askin'?" Annabelle made a waving motion for her to continue, "What is it like?" Marianne asked, holding a hand to her small bump. Annabelle stayed silent for a long moment and Marianne was just about to apologize when she started speaking. Her voice quiet and melancholic.

"Well, you birth them, you give them all of your care and attention, they become your world and you are their everything. They look up to you with the complete trust that you can solve all of their problems. With just a kiss, a song or a hug you can make all the bad go away. You are the fairest and strongest of them all. And you live in constant fear that one day they'll realize you are not truly as strong or as brave as you are pretending to be. …. and then…and then you look away for just a second, and they don't need you anymore. You are useless. Everything you used to do for them they can do it themselves. Suddenly their friends know them better than you," She smiled sadly at Marianne,

"They grow up and realize you are not faultless anymore. Not perfect and not capable of everything. They might resent your foolishness and they might blame your weakness. Being alone becomes the norm and not the exception and you desperately missed the times they went to you for every problem." She looked away and cleaned a tear from her eye with the back of her hand.

Marianne stood in shock. She had known her mistress had been feeling sad but she had not imagined the extent.

"Ma'am those children love and adore you." Marianne said quietly but with conviction. "If my child loves me half as much as your children love you, I'll be the happiest mama alive."

"Yes, I'm being silly aren't I?" Annabelle asked with self-deprecate expression and half a smile that did not reach her eyes.

Marianne firmly nodded and they back to talking about the roses.

-0-

"Keep your eyes closed. Keep them closed. Mama no peeking!" Charles exclaimed when he saw his mother cheating, "Now open them."

Annabelle was left without breath. She gazed in awe at the beautiful stained window on her favourite indoor garden depicting a red rose. The window was two meters tall and it was masterly done, if not simple in design. She looked at her wonderful, talented son and was surprised to see him looking nervous and insecure. The eyes she has always loved, now dull and hidden behind large glasses, looking at her for approval.

"Do you like it mama?" He asked and his voice was small and full of insecurity. He was fidgeting in place and looking at her intently.

Her child that was now financially independent, with more money that she and Frank could ever dream of making, two houses at his name and two jobs. Her child that could summon the dead, create explosives and scare the living daylights out of her. Her son that wielded magic that most grown wizards could never hope to imitate, _needed her_. Needed her approval and her love. She felt that her heart might burst with happiness. He might have changed and grown, but he was still the same little boy that destroyed her brushes and paints trying to make her a picture for her birthday.

She hugged him tight "Charles it's exquisite! I love it. Is this what you'd been doing all of this time?"

He nodded, relaxing in her embrace. She felt silly for thinking he had forgotten about her and the fight she had with Frank that she now knew it was because she had been jealous of the time her children were spending with him and not her. She held back the tears that threatened to fall.

"I've missed you baby."

"I have missed you too, mama."

Charles held her tightly.

_The pursuit of peace and progress cannot end in a few years in either victory or defeat. The pursuit of peace and progress, with its trials and its errors, its successes and its setbacks, can never be relaxed and never abandoned. -Dag Hammarskjold_

* * *

><p><strong><em>Don't Hit and Run! Review! Please? Small comments or happy faces are welcomed. <em>**


	27. Chapter 27: part I: The offer

Chapter 27: Vampires, Goblins, and Werewolves part I: The offer

**1935**

Leviathan dried his sweaty palms on his trousers and hid the trembling of his legs by locking them in place and standing stiffly. He felt a big gaping whole on his stomach and ice, instead of blood, running in his veins. A voice inside his head continually shouted _run and hide! run and hide!_ _run and hide!_ Like a sick, twisted, mantra. But, logically, he knew that no running or hiding would free him from this conversation. There was simply nothing he could do but stand in place and endure.

"I remember a boy." Seraphim said calmly, almost conversationally, but Leviathan was far from fooled. He was in trouble. _Big_ trouble. No one ever gets a one on one with Seraphim without having messed up something big, and they usually don't survive too long after the conversation.

"He seemed powerful at first, but he proved to be as doltish, spineless and ordinary as the rest. But there was _something_. Something _particular_ about this boy, something that struck me as unusual, and plagued me mercilessly. I decided to do something about it." Seraphim looked at Leviathan. And Leviathan felt a shiver run down his spine. When his fear addled brain processed the words he felt as if his very soul had dropped to the floor, and his brain melted.

"Did you know, Leviathan, that the traps in Vast Castle were inactivated?" Seraphim didn't wait for a response, "Of course you knew. You have always known haven't you?"

Leviathan closed his eyes in horror but still felt Seraphim's penetrating gaze, "You noticed the boy and spent time with him, before and after the attempt on your pathetic, worthless life. Yet, you said nothing."

"I was understandably mad," Leviathan tried not to whimper at onslaught of raw magic that wanted to tear through his body; he was not sure if he succeeded but Seraphim continued, "but my curiosity was picked. I thought that the times were a human could fool _me_ were long gone. You can imagine that not too many things are curious or mysterious after the first few centuries. I wanted the boy back to determine the truth before I killed you, so I sent a team to fetch him. Do you know what happened, Leviathan?" Seraphim asked in a seemingly innocent manner, and this time he waited for a response.

Leviathan forced his dry mouth to work and half-asked, half-stated, "He killed them."

Leviathan could still remember the screams (the helplessness, the panic, the horror) of the vampire when he was trapped in an underground prison with hundreds of living dead puppets slowly eating him alive. And he could still feel the determination to survive at all costs living inside the boy like a hungry animal.

Leviathan had not met a single person, vampire, werewolf or wizard, with half the willpower to live, to survive, and to persevere against all odds with such single-minded drive. The intensity of his will had drawn Leviathan in like an addict. And like the butterfly that got too close to the tantalizing light of the candle, he was being burned by a lure he was helpless to control.

"That's the curious part. He didn't kill any of them. Or more specifically, we cannot _prove_ he killed any of them." Seraphim's smile was feral, "It is a real mystery, one that I intend to solve. But at least it answered the question of why you felt the need to hide the boy from us."

"Nevertheless, we do not take betrayal lightly, Leviathan, and this could be considered treason." Seraphim sadistically waited a few seconds until the implications of being accused of treason filtered through Leviathan's mind. Leviathan's breath became harsh. He was on the verge of a panic attack and his eyes filled with horrified tears.

"I could have ignored your part in it. You're not important after all." Leviathan winced at the harsh reminder of how insignificant he was. "But your betrayal reached a whole new level with the immense magical battle that occurred in England and the place _reeked_ of the boy. It was curiously close to the same place the portkey dropped the boy. The portkey _you_ gave him Leviathan."

"The official report said that he was just an innocent bystander caught in the fight." Seraphim smiled at Leviathan, as if they shared a private joke, "This boy just seems to have the worst luck, doesn't he? And then shortly after, someone, _a very powerful someone_, opens a door to another Realm and leads us into a pointless chase for more than a year and we are still no closer to resolving the mystery. Too many mysteries around the same time, don't you think?"

"I…I don't know." And he really didn't know. He had been too busy studying vampire law to care much about the news. His circle of friends that could keep him up to date in current events was currently non-existent, and growing shorter by the second.

"I want you to know. I don't believe in coincidences. We have a new player in the game. For now on you'll be leading the investigation pertaining him. You will find him and you will bring him to me." Seraphim gave him a look of pure malice, "Fail and ascension to Elderhood will be the least of your concerns."

-0-

Leviathan sat in the back of the grand room and drummed his fingers on the arm of his brown leather chair, uncaring about the vampires filtering around him. No one paid him any mind. He no more wanted to be here than they wanted him there.

He watched his fingers as he thought back to the first time he held a conversation with a human boy. He can now see how naïve and clueless he must have appeared. The boy must have been silently laughing at him, Leviathan thought despondently. Nothing new there, he was the laughing stock of the vampire community.

How could human boy shine as bright as a star even when he wanted to fade in the darkness, while Leviathan wanted to shine and be noticed, but was constantly pushed to the shadows? What did the boy had that he didn't?

Life was so unfair.

A cough interrupted his introspection and he looked up to notice that most were already present. The reunion was ready to start. Around twenty vampires sat in a long square table each one with gold goblets filled with blood.

A week after Charles Winter had entered Vast Castle for reasons still unknown a team had been assembled to bring him back. They were unsuccessful, as were all the other teams that had tried in the following months. Leviathan was supposed to lead a new team, and his life depended on the success of the mission. He had no idea how he was going to lead a team of older, more competent vampires since no one, not even those born to the lowest tier, had any respect for him.

He was the fairy, the shirt-lifter, the incompetent, and the one that had knowingly withheld important information. From the beginning, Leviathan had known what had happened, had even known the boy's name, and had known what he was capable of, yet he had said nothing. The fact that no one had asked him was not important, or even relevant.

Learning the boy's name had taken a group of highly specialized researchers a lot of time and work, and they had been woefully unprepared with what they faced. They had assumed he was just a wizard of seven to eight years that had somehow managed to escape unnoticed that night, not surprising since the festivities had been full of human little boys.

No one even remembered what he had looked like; he had only been one more blood bag in a sea of blood bags. And not even an important one compared with the abundance of magical blood. They thought Seraphim wanted him back because of the sensitive information he could have taken with him when he escaped with his life and returned to the wizards.

"Can anyone care to explain why has the simple assignment of bringing a human boy has brought no results after more than a year?" A low level Elder demanded. He was above Leviathan in station, and could technically order him about, but Leviathan was the leader here, not him.

Leviathan permitted the insult to pass unchallenged. He took a page from Charles Winter and supressed his offended pride to a deep corner of his soul were not even he could feel it. If he had learned anything from the boy it was that one could be both submissive and aggressive. Fight when you have the best chance of surviving, and submit when it was more convenient.

Right now, it was more convenient to wait, learn everything he can, and then he can take control of the situation. They were more likely to lie to him, or omit important information in the hopes of getting him killed. But they wouldn't dare lie to an Elder. It was too ingrained in the mind and culture of a vampire to respect their Elders for them to go against it, even if they hated Leviathan and wished him to fail.

Leviathan was not sure if they hated him more because of this perceived betrayal or because Leandro had betrayed his sexual orientation at the Academy to gain more favour. It was probably a deadly combination of both. He was both the delicate fairy and the traitor. He was not sure which title he hated more.

"Sir, we are doing our best."

"Your best? Your BEST! It is but a single human child!" he roared.

Leviathan snorted, the Elder had absolutely no idea who he was dealing with and what he had gotten himself into. A few of the vampires closest to him glared, but the rest ignored him. It was alarming how used he was getting at being ignored. It was better than getting beaten to the ground and repeatedly cursed, but the sharp pang it caused never left, no matter that it happened every day.

"Sir, we have lost twenty-three vampires, two were part of the elite class, one of them graduated first in the Academy." Leviathan tried not to choke on the sip of blood he had swallowed. Seraphim had said that there had been deaths, but _twenty-three_?

A still childish part of his mind couldn't help the _'See mom! Obviously grades aren't everything. Being first didn't help them survive, did it?'_ comment.

"Did he kill them?" the redheaded elder asked sharply, suddenly more serious and visibly less agitated. Even he couldn't deny that twenty-three deaths meant that they were dealing with something serious. Vampires don't die at the drop of a hat like the blood bags. They usually didn't die.

"Well, you see…. no, not exactly."

The redhead rubbed his temples trying, and failing, to rein his temper. "What. Do. You. Mean? Can someone PLEASE explain to me this _madness_!"

"We cannot prove he killed any of them. The only reason he is a suspect at all is because they were all following him at the time of their deaths."

Another took over and explained when it seemed that the Elder was close to murdering someone, "When the first did not arrive at the meeting point we investigated and found that a vampire hunter got him. He was a low level rookie; we thought nothing of it. We sent another low level to pick up the boy and we found that the vampire had been killed in a construction site near where the boy was supposed to be located. The workers took the blame, said it had been an error and that the person involved had been discharged."

"After that we started sending them in pairs, then in groups of five. I personally went with a group of ten, six of us watched from a safe distant as the four died in a freak accident while the boy was busy buying balloons in the park, completely oblivious. He cannot be blamed for a single death. No single death is the same. There's no evidence against him, no loose ends, no method, and no accomplice." The vampire sounded almost…_proud_. A flush covered his pale cheeks and his dark eyes shone with barely supressed excitement.

Leviathan was not sure if the vampire wanted to find the boy to congratulate him, or to take him hostage.

"Gentlemen," Another vampire took over, "we do not know what exactly we are dealing with, but we do know he, or it, is an expert and not to be taken lightly. Do not let his appearance fool you. In twenty-three deaths he has not made a single mistake that could compromise him. The only thing in common in all of them is that he cannot possibly be blamed and that they were following him."

Leviathan licked his suddenly dry lips, and with a sinking feeling understood why Seraphim wanted him leader of the group. This was no honour or challenge to rise above. He was simply not meant to survive.

"Tracking the four children, because he is always with at least one of three other human children, is almost impossible. There is no sense or logical reasoning in their chosen destinations and no tracking magic that works. We have to follow them the old fashion way. Our best trackers were used and they could barely keep up. They have an unorthodox method of transportation that is instantaneous and untraceable."

Leviathan was not sure if he needed to clean his ears but the vampire almost sounded _envious_ at the end.

"I want information on this boy. I want to know who he is, who trained him and if he is an enemy of the vampires," the only Elder present commanded.

"Charles Gustav Winter. Here are the Ministry files on the Winter family and a copy of the results that the Department of Mysteries did the night of the Battle. It is safe to assume that the name is false since there are no previous records of such a family and no paper trail."

"How is he doing it?" The Elder asked.

"Officially, we don't know."

"Unofficially?"

"We suspect he has a wide range of wards. To recreate the events we have seen he would need no less than fifty different wards active at the same time, including but not limited to long-range protection wards, bad luck ward, intention ward and secrecy wards. We only suspect this because of the effects to those how have approached them but we have no concrete prove of this. As far as we can tell, there is no active magic surrounding them other than their own innate magic. As we are all aware, it is impossible to hold so many wards at the same time without at least five to ten ward stones, but they move constantly and the protection follows them everywhere. The only magical devices we can detect are a few illegal portkeys, and a necklace in the oldest girl that prevents Veela magic from affecting others."

"What else do we know?"

"The family is wealthy, so much so that they can afford to move at will from one country to another with little trouble. Charles Winter is in contact with a wide range of muggles. When contacted, the muggles described Charles Winter as a tall handsome man of about thirty. This could be the uncle that goes by the same name, a potion or a spell, but we must not discard the possibility that he is a Changer. He works with the goblins, but the goblins have still not made a decision regarding selling information to us. We believe they are waiting to see how the cards fall to place before making any sort of move."

The experts on the case started passing out papers with all the information and photos they had. The photos were all candid snapshots. For some they had paid muggles to follow them and take still pictures of them using their own weird inventions. Leviathan paused in one and looked at it closely. Three boys were in front of a beach. He recognized the middle one as Charles.

He looked both older and younger than Leviathan remembered. At one side he had an older, blond boy that had one arm wrapped around Charles' thin shoulders, and at the other side he had a brown haired boy around the same age as Charles with one arm wrapped around Charles waist. It was the epitome of three happy, carefree friends having a fun day at the beach. It was no wonder that it took the vampires so long to take the threat seriously. The boy didn't look as if he could hurt a fly, much less murder a vampire.

Leviathan felt the burning need to tear the picture into hundreds of tiny pieces and burn them. Life was surely unfair. While some got everything, others got nothing. He read the profile on the blond boy, nothing remarkable he determined. He passed a few written overheard conversations. He stopped and smiled in amusement at one of them.

_-"You were singing in the Opera, The Opera, Charles! One does not sing along in the Opera! Especially with your lack of talent."_

"_Hey, now you are just being mean. I sing wonderfully. Lots of people complimented me."_

He really would have wished to have been there.

After the information had been passed, read and discussed, not that there was much to discuss. It was clear that the boy was searching for something. He had contacted a group of historians, archaeologists and scavengers, both muggle and magical, to search in a wide range of places. Other than that, the boy and the boy's family did very little that could be considered a threat to the vampire community. The meeting closed without any sort of plan being made, but with a lot of questions raised.

Out in the hallway the vampires quickly dissolved into something that resembled more a group of gossiping old ladies than a group of highly trained, deadly vampires. Leviathan listened with rapt attention from a hidden dark corner.

"The Academia somehow got wind of this and the teachers started using the Winter boy as part of their curriculum." A vampire Leviathan did not know shared happily, as if this was some big puzzle that had him salivating at the thought of solving it. Leviathan was sure he was an academic.

"It became part of the Advance Tracking and Evading class to study the boy's methods and to try to find him. Perfect score are given to those who could discover his general location. Only three of a class of two hundred have found him, one admitted guessing and the other followed his classmate when it became apparent he was on to something."

"The Covert Class has him as prime example of how to get away with murder. All twenty-three cases are now part of the final exam question. The students must chose one case and explain a _plausible_ way for how he did it. Everyone has failed the question. No one knows how a human child that was at the park, playing ball could be held responsible for the death of three vampires, three towns away. There's been talk about writing a book, and opening a class for the sole purpose of studying the mortal. Not surprising, it has received a lot of backing."

"There's talk that he is a ghost." A vampire shared with an exited glint in his eye, "That he has Felix Felices instead of blood in his veins. That he is a myth. That he was created by the trainers as a way of torture. That he is a god, a semi-god, invincible…No one wants to take the case anymore."

"Stop talking nonsense Freddy," an older vampire interrupted with a sneer.

"The goblins know something. They have been unbearably smug, the little bastards."

"They are always smug little bastards."

"True."

"They either know something or someone leaked how important the information was to us."

"Or they are not willing to risk persecution if the price is not right."

Leviathan went back to the room and stole a stack of papers that detailed all the information discussed in the meeting. He looked at the sheer amount of papers, rubbed his forehead and settled himself for a long night. This might be harder that he thought.

He was sure that Charles would not welcome a visit from him any more than he had welcomed the others.

-0-

**May 1936**

"Mama, please don't make me." Anyone hearing Charles might have thought he was being forced to cut his own hand. Charles would have preferred to cut his hand, given the option.

"Charles stop being dramatic. It is your sister's introduction to society, an important event and one that requires your presence." She sounded like she was also trying to convince herself of the fact.

Charles had a horrible, itchy suit that had one too many layers. A shirt collar done up and a tie slip knotted to the point of strangulation.

"Now empty your pockets. Explosives are not a required part of the event."

"Mama!" He looked rebellious, his feet separated and his centre of mass low, ready for a fight. The fact that it was a mental and verbal fight had nothing on years of physical training.

Annabelle did not look impressed. "Out with it mister."

After he had lost, rather spectacularly and by a wide margin, Charles emptied his pockets, leaving a considerable mountain of explosives and weapons on the floor.

"Is that all?" Annabelle asked, her eyes narrowed and her voice heavy with suspicion.

"Yes," Charles lied with a straight face.

"Penny dear, did Charles give you that pretty stuffed animal?" Annabelle asked sweetly. When Penny nodded uncertainly, Annabelle asked, "Can I see it?"

Penny looked about to refuse, but in the end handed it in. Wanting to please winning over loyalty. With practiced hands Annabelle opened the stuffed animal and took all of the hidden contents out. A second mountain formed besides the first.

"Something could happen." Charles said sourly.

"The only danger you have to worry about is bad conversation and stepped on toes."

"How did she know?" Tom asked softly once Annabelle was well out of hearing range, not that difficult since she was practically deaf in one ear.

"She is Mama." Charles said seriously, "She always knows."

Charles was still glaring at Annabelle's general direction and discreetly using his foot to gather a few things back from the mountain on the floor.

Annabelle had the strange ability to always know when Charles was up to something and a talent for knowing when someone was lying. That was probably the reason Charles was so good at lying, he had to be in order to get away with anything under the watchful eyes of his mother. Tom supposed that raising Charles had enabled Annabelle to grow eyes in the back of her head, extra ears on the walls, and an uncanny six sense to know when her son was in trouble, or more frequently, causing trouble. Tom just hadn't found the extra appendages yet, but he was sure they were there, hidden under that mass of hair.

"What's so bad about the party?" Tom wondered out loud. Tom rather liked his suit, it had been tailor made to fit him perfectly, and he got to choose the colours.

"What's so-? _What's so bad?_" Charles asked in shock, "How about mind-numbing, stomach churning, soul-deadening _chit-chat_? How about cheek pinching, hand shaking, too much perfume agony? If that's not enough, add the repeated comments on how _cute _and _adorable_ you look?" Charles said in a theatrical whisper. Cute and adorable could have been foul words in Charles' mouth.

Tom started looking vaguely nauseous. Annabelle came back, looked at Tom's green face and at Charles poorly hidden amusement and in her most serious parental voice said, "Charles, stop tormenting Tom. I'm sure that no one asks children to repeat the rules of conduct anymore."

Tom squeaked, looking horrified, and went to fetch the book of manners The Dragon had generously gifted Charles after Charles' rather rude comment on the importance of petticoats.

"Mama, that was mean," Charles said laughing. Annabelle winked at him.

"Tom insinuated I looked something less than perfect," she replied haughtily, taking an imaginary glint of her perfectly tailored ballroom gown and looking at Charles with humour filled eyes.

"Mama I think he just meant that this broke," Charles said, touching the lace that had come off in her shoulder.

She rolled her eyes in exasperation. "He could have just said it," she muttered as she fixed the misbehaving piece of lace.

"It's Tom, Mama." Charles shrugged, accidentally letting Annabelle notice a bump on his pocket.

"Oh my precious, petulant child," She started the long process of emptying his pockets once again, "life would be such a bore without you in it," she exclaimed.

"You are being awfully unreasonable mama. Movement activated explosives and temperature-sensitive missiles are not that dangerous and you never know when you will need them."

"A parachute Charles? _Really?_" Annabelle said in resignation, taking the offending piece and throwing it to the pile. Tom stopped perusing the book he had just fetched to raise his eyebrows at Charles. _A parachute?_ He silently mouthed, followed by a fake, disappointed shake of his head.

"You never know," Charles defended grumpily.

Annabelle looked at him with amusement, "Stop acting crabby. Are you hungry?"

A 'no!' was on the tip of his tongue but his stomach decided to scream in that moment, "I'm hungry." He grudgingly agreed.

"That would explain a lot. There will be food later on."

Tom was always amused to see Charles revert to a five year old. It was a rare moment when Charles didn't have to take care of everyone and their dog, and could relax without the world coming apart. Charles had been more and more relaxed since he found his parents. On those moments Charles acted his age and maybe even a little more immature to compensate for all the time he spent being serious.

Annabelle and Tom understood this. But Abigael and Frank had trouble understanding the dichotomy that was Charles personality, they expected the same level of maturity and reliability from Charles at all times. Abigael because Charles was her rock, and rocks were not allowed to bend. Frank because Charles had fought his right to be treated as an adult, and won, so he was now expected to behave like an adult at all times. The drawback of being an adult, he had said, was that everyone expects you to _act_ like an adult.

This conscious and unconscious expectation always made Charles act like they wanted him to. But right now when it was just the three of them, Charles relaxed and acted as petulant as he wanted to.

Penny didn't count in Tom's tally of people present; had he counted animals he _might_ have included her. She was only important in Tom's world when he needed something out of her. He wasn't high on her list either.

"Mama I'm your favourite, you shouldn't treat me so."

"My favourite boy is Tom. _He _did not give me stretch marks."

"You shouldn't try to be funny, you are not very good at it," Charles said deadpanned.

"Is it too much to ask for you to suffer _in silence_?"

Charles thought about it, "Yes." But he stopped complaining.

"Penny, hold my hand tightly. Is Martha coming?" Annabelle asked Charles and Charles nodded. Martha was a constant face in their house, often joining them to dine and to help Annabelle with the gardens. Annabelle and Frank seemed happy to have her around. Martha was also glad to feel included. She had spent many years alone after her husband's death.

"She is meeting us there. I offered to take her but I think she has a new friend." Martha has not let age stop her from dating, much to the other's amusement. Every week at Sunday night dinner they met 'the love of her life' and it was never the same face twice.

"So you remember that next month I'm going to Vienna right?" Charles asked as they made their way to the festivities.

"I remember. A business deal and you just _have_ to be there."

"Well, there is also this bookstore there that supposedly has the largest collection of magical books in Europe…"

"Finally, I hear the truth!"

"Mama! I did not lie. The deal is a once in a lifetime opportunity and will open many doors on the international market-"

"Yes Charles," she interrupted before he started the hour-long explanation, "You have explained before. Extensively. Tell me what you want."

"Yes, well. I might need a few more days."

"Charles," she sighed, and looked to the sky for guidance, "How many days 'is a few more days'?"

"Five?"

She looked at him sharply. He winced and amended, "More like ten. You see it is a good opportunity to send this satellite up to space since I'll be close to a location that's convenient." Years of experience made Annabelle ask what no one would have thought to ask from that statement, "What location exactly?"

Charles winced, "Near the equator…"

"Last I checked Vienna is nowhere near the equator."

The conversation continued all the way to the location of the party and though the fan dance the debutants performed. Charles adamantly trying to convince his mother of the importance of having a satellite for his own, personal use, and no, he was not going to use it as a weapon for mass destruction. Mostly.

Annabelle looked at her son when he suddenly went silent, staring at a point in the distance. She looked to see a handsome boy of around sixteen with soft brown hair and sparkling dark eyes staring directly at her son.

Charles was tense and rigid like a board, all the playful childishness, and sparkling innocence gone. The little boy she knows and loves supressed under a wall of steel, he was now the man she was slowly getting to know and admire. He became this person, this tower of strength, when there was something to be done, or someone to defend. She put an arm protectively around Charles shoulders.

"Mama, do you believe in chance, choice or fate?" He asked her softly, not taking his eyes off the boy.

Annabelle thought about it and responded as best as she could, with the knowledge that her answer will be taken seriously and remembered. "I believe that fate can set you a path, chance might open doors, and you might have the choice between different roads, but it is all for naught is you don't have the strength to follow through my son. Fate, chance and choice cannot infuse you with bravery, cannot make you stand up, and have no say on your thoughts or what passes through your lips."

"Mama, apologize to Abby for me. I'm not feeling too well. I'll see you at home if I become too sick to stay." Charles did not try to convince her that it was the truth, and that bothered Annabelle more than had he made a spectacle trying to convince her.

"Do you want me to accompany you?" She asked softly, already knowing the answer but willing to try. He might not need her to defend him, but it didn't mean she wouldn't try.

"No."

She handed him her small beaded purse. It contained all of the shrunk weapons she had confiscated. "Alright. Stay safe."

"Yes, mama," he said, taking the beaded purse and hiding it in his pocket.

Charles looked around, taking everything and everyone in one casual sweep. Tom was talking with the Italian Ambassador's son. Penny was slowly devouring the cakes at the food table. Frank was standing near by, entertaining a group of men with his dark humour and disdain for all the pomp and frill. Abby was standing with a group of friends, all daughters of the privileged class in muggle England and fellow debutants. The Dragon was near by, keeping a watchful eye on her girls and an ear for potential matches.

When he determined that no one was in danger, and that there were no other vampires waiting for an ambush, he made his way to the vampire.

"The last time I saw you, I was rather hoping it was the last time I saw you," was Charles terse greeting.

Leviathan nodded in acceptance, already knowing he was not welcomed but glad that he had not been cursed on sight. Leviathan respected this boy, and respected the fact that he didn't want to found. Leviathan also respected the fact that he could easily kill Leviathan.

"I had to talk to you. It's important."

Charles looked deeply irritated, but gave a sharp nod and led the vampire out of the great hall the debutant was located. Leviathan hesitated a moment before following him. He was deeply uncomfortable in following the boy to a dark, secluded corner, already cursing his stupid, suicidal plan. But he knew that out of anyone in the vampire community, he had the most chance of success at talking with the seemingly harmless, but deadly dangerous, wizard.

He will show them all. He breathed deeply. He can do this.

Charles entered a vacant room, waited for Leviathan to enter and closed the door.

Leviathan shivered, the amount of feelings he was receiving was overwhelming but not crippling, and thankfully not overly aggressive. Over time he has learned to supress his special ability so that it wouldn't become a curse.

Charles raised a questioning eyebrow when Leviathan made no move to start the conversation.

"Talk,"

Leviathan smiled a little. Oh my, how the tables have turned.

"You are wanted, by everyone. The whole dammed vampire community is searching for you. They are having trouble locating you, and when they do, they have problems getting close. But eventually, they will get you."

Charles nodded, unfazed "Tell me something I don't know." It was not as if the vampires had even _tried_ to be subtle about it. And he knew that eventually his luck will run out, and they will catch him unaware.

"I have been assigned by Seraphim to bring you in, if I fail I'll be declared as a traitor and executed."

Charles raised one brow, "And do you really think they'll let you live after you have handed me in?"

Leviathan paused. He had not thought of that. He had assumed that after he was successful he'd be pardoned. His mind reeled and he felt a horrible sinking feeling. _There is no winning here is there?_

Charles felt pity for the vampire, but there was no way he'll deliver himself in a silver platter for the vampires. Leviathan was staring blankly, his face crushed and defeated.

"There, there. Death is not so bad."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" His voice trembled, but he smiled a little at the horrible consolation given by the most unlikely person. "I don't want to die."

"You did not come here to take me," Charles stated, ignoring his last comment. "Or else you wouldn't have started by telling me. What did you expect from this meeting?"

"I…I don't know. Convince you to meet with the Elders?"

"You know I won't."

"Look, you're probably right, I'm dead either way. But it's probably better for you to meet with them on your own terms than to let them take you by surprise. Maybe enter as an invited guest."

"They'll never offer me guest privileges. They'll want to make sure they can kill me if I don't bow down to their wishes."

Leviathan nodded, and sudden inspiration made him reach to his pocket. "Here," he said proudly, offering an envelope to Charles, "You are cordially invited to my birthday celebration."

Charles did not take the envelope like Leviathan expected, instead the envelope floated in the air. Magic surrounded it and after Charles was sure it was not a trap he grabbed the envelope and opened it.

Charles smiled, "Clowns?" It also had little dancing turtles on the border.

Leviathan blushed, "Yes, well. They are all the rave now," He said stiffly. It was a lie, but when he had started planning his party, the most important event in a young vampire's life, the point that marked him as an adult, everyone already hated him, so he had decided to do whatever the hell made _him_ happy. He figured no one was going to arrive anyway, so he could have clowns if he wanted to, and turtles as decoration. That way the only person in the party could enjoy the event.

Charles snickered at the colourful balloons and smiling clowns, but quickly sobered. "They'll hate you for this." To be an invited guest to a vampire party was very different than to be an invited guest to a wizard or muggle party. An invited guest cannot be harmed under any circumstance.

"They already hate me, but at least they will not kill me until _after_ the party."

Leviathan and Charles looked at the door at the same time. They felt a searching wave of magic pass through the room. "I'll think about it. You should go, my brother is looking for me."

Leviathan nodded and disappeared in the shadows of the room just as the door opened.

"Charles, what are you doing here?" Tom asked suspiciously, looking at the dark, empty room warily.

Charles smiled tightly. "I wasn't feeling well. Wanted a few seconds by myself."

"Well, come on then. Abigael is looking for you." Tom did not move from the door until Charles walked past him and looked one more time at the room. "You shouldn't walk off without telling me."

Charles snorted, and lightly punched him. "Of course mom," he said mockingly.

"Your mother has completely lost it."

"She never had it."

"I dare you to say that to her face."

"Not for all the gold…" They rounded the curve and went out of Leviathan's hearing range. He sighed and looked at the end of the empty hallway in longing.

Yes, some people had it all.

* * *

><p><strong>Vast Castle<strong>

"I called this meeting to inform that Charles Winter has agreed to meet with us in a non-hostile environment." At once the room erupted in plans. Magical supressing shackles were quickly decided, but other plans in how to trap him in anti-magic cages in an underwater location were also shouted.

Leviathan cleared his throat; everyone ignored him and the plans on how to subdue the boy continued. "Excuse me," he tried again, and again he was ignored. Fed up, he screamed "_Shut up!"_ Everyone stopped to glare at him in rage. He glared back. Well, they already hated him its not as if things could get any worse.

"He agreed to come to my coming of age celebration as an invited guest." Shouts of 'Invited guest! How stupid can you be?' were heard from a few vampires, and more derisive comments. But everyone quieted when the redheaded Elder raised his hand in a silent command for silence.

"How did you manage that?" He asked Leviathan.

"I…I asked him." That received a lot had unbelieving raised eyebrows.

"You just _asked_ him?" He clarified, clearly sceptical. Leviathan nodded. "And he did not try to kill you?"

"No."

"Well boy, for once, your birthday is something to celebrate about."


	28. Chapter 28: part II: Birthday Party

Chapter 28:

Vampires, Goblins, and Werewolves part II: Birthday Party

"Mrs Winter? You can come in now," The receptionist told her. She kissed her husband in the cheek and went to meet with the Healer.

The Healer greeted her with a warm smile and the usual pleasantries, and quickly started the scans. He looked at the results in amazement. "Annabelle if I hadn't personally overseen your case I wouldn't have believed it. Your recovery rate is outstanding. All the books say you are supposed to be dead. What's your secret?" He was a good man, Annabelle supposed, but a little careless with his words.

"A stubborn little boy that refuses to let me go without a fight," Annabelle said with a fond smile, not even pausing to acknowledge the 'you are supposed to be dead' comment.

"Love can overcome almost anything. I have seen prove of that time and time again."

Annabelle smiled and did not correct him on his assumption. Charles loved her like the sun, she knew this, but he also fed her his own recipes of potions, endlessly looking for a cure that did not exist.

She met Frank in the waiting room, smiled and assured him that everything was fine.

They arrived home to find Charles elbow deep in a strange metal contraption. He was completely covered in grease and frowning in deep concentration. "Charles?" she called. He grunted in response. "Didn't you tell me you had something today?"

He looked up at her and frowned in thought, before he widened his eyes in alarm. "Shit! What day is today?"

"The third."

He looked at the setting sun, and let out a string of curses. "_Language!_"

"I'm sorry mama. I'm late!"

Charles made it running to the bathroom, and still dripping from the quick shower took out random clothes. In record time he was dressed. Charles slapped his forehead, "The gift!" He looked around the room for inspiration. He squinted his eyes and decided, _yes, that will have to do_.

A potted plant was quickly wrapped in red paper. He spent a little more time making sure his all weapons were securely in place and that he had everything. As an invited guest he was not allowed to harm any other guest, or vice versa. But they could surely wait until the end of the event and ambush him in another location. The portkey activated on the dot and he was whisked away.

He arrived in a corner of a small empty room. He must be one of the last to arrive. He had taken the last possible hour the portkey activated. Silently, he made his way to the grand room and entered by a side door, unnoticed. The room was easily twice the size as the room that had held the vampire convention, and held three times more people, making the room look like a sea of heads.

Just standing by the side door was an assault to the senses. The scents, the colours, the music, and the amount of different people and species made the place look less posh and more carnival. Everyone wore their own traditional formal clothes for the occasion. But in a room full of people from different cultures, species, and sometimes, periods in time, the final effect was bizarre, colourful and interesting. Especially for a boy of Charles' modest background.

What looked like Leviathan's original decorations had been pushed to a hidden corner in the back. A broken statue of a smiling turtle was on the floor, and colourful strings had been destroyed. The clowns were bound and gagged in a nearby corner. Their eyes, red and pleading.

The front doors opened, and everyone seemed to hold their breath, or pretend to hold their breath, depending on the species. Murmurs of 'is that him? I can't see with all the people. No, that's not him. It's obvious he is not coming. That Leviathan was just lying to get attention.'

Aimlessly walking around the room Charles couldn't help notice the amount of _hate_ that was directed at Leviathan. It was staggering. He reached the gift table, or what was supposed to be the gift table, and there was only one modest size gift. The card read: _From your loving parents_.

Now he felt _horrible_. He had assumed that the privileged vampire would get a mountain of gifts, and that his gift would be ignored in a hidden corner, not to be noticed. Before he could hide his gift, or change it for another, the vampire was suddenly _right there_.

"You brought me a gift? That's so _nice_ of you." He took the gift out of Charles hands and eyed it greedily, shaking it a little to determine what it was.

"Yeah," Charles scratched the back of his neck, feeling deeply uncomfortable, "It's nothing," Much to Charles shame, the vampire opened the gift immediately.

"A plant?" Charles went completely red, "How did you know I wanted a plant?" Leviathan was looking in wonder at the slightly brown and crinkled plant. It a was completely unremarkable green house plant, it was not even magical.

Charles coughed, "It was nothing. Nice robes." Leviathan robes were a pale pink colour with white and gold details.

"They are, aren't they?" Leviathan touched the soft fabric with the tips of his fingers, "I wouldn't have dared to wear this before. But having everyone hating you is strangely liberating. Well, it is also damn depressing, but it has its ups. I can say, do and wear whatever the hell I please. Since they are going to hate me anyway, pleasing them has no purpose."

"That was how I found you." He looked at Charles, and Charles fidgeted at the intense stare, "No feelings of hate, and even a dash of pity for the clowns." Leviathan smiled sadly, looking at the corner the clowns were bound. "And I figured you are not a front-door kind of person." Leviathan pointed with his chin at all the people that were still, obsessively, looking at the front door.

"Why did all this people come, if they hate you?" Charles asked curiously.

"Oh, they did not came for little old _me_, they came for _you_. And paid a hefty price to be invited too. There is a representative from every mayor vampire conclave in the world, the goblin leader from the North, the South and the East, and all the important Alphas. And all their advisors and entourage."

"What do they want?" Charles asked, feeling a silver of panic.

"To know your political agenda of course, and decide if they'll want to be your allies, neutrals, or opponents, if or _when_ war breaks out."

'_Political agenda?'_ Charles thought in panic, _'I don't have a political agenda. I'm a soldier, not a politician._'

Well there had been a couple of things he had thought of doing that could be considered 'political'. But he had always thought of them as a _far in the future_ kind of things. He remembered thinking, many years ago, about doing something about the magical children left in orphanages, and the ones who couldn't pay for a magical education. But again, he had imagined himself old and broken, miraculously alive after his biggest victory, with more than enough time to concentrate on that.

Right now, at the age of nine, he just wanted to be left alone. Politics and intrigue can come later, at a more convenient time. Sadly this people were not aware that this was an inconvenient time for him, that he was just nine, and would prefer a little peace from time to time, in between raising the dead and killing people that try to kill him. Maybe, go to school first…

"Don't worry about it. They can't hate you more than they hate me. And if they do, at least we'll be together," Leviathan said a little _too_ cheerfully. Charles suspected he was feeling lonely in the sea of hate.

"Strangely, that doesn't make me feel better."

Charles saw a group of goblins he knew from work standing close by, and decided to greet them before they start to feel mortally insulted. "I'm going to go talk to a few co-workers."

"Sure, have fun." Charles snorted.

_Fun_, goblins or anything goblin, cannot be described as _fun_. But he dutifully went to greet them, and get it over with. He had to work with them on a monthly basis; it will not do to have them offended. They were already sourly enough, and made his life plenty difficult without adding an actual excuse, other than living.

"Well, Leviathan, it seems he isn't coming after all." Elder Xine said with derision, and poorly hidden glee at Leviathan's fall from grace.

Leviathan's smile was vindictive, "Oh, what are you talking about? He has been here for half an hour now."

Leviathan gleefully enjoyed how red his face became, "And you haven't said anything?" he barked, bringing the attention of those closest. Leviathan shrugged, not bothering to look contrite. Elder Xine stalked off like an angry bull, and not a minute after, someone called the attention of the room.

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I get you attention, our guest of honour has arrived." A flurry of movement and exited murmurs as everyone tried to find the elusive guest, "We will pass to the next room to continue with our planned schedule."

_Yes, and I'm just the butler_, Leviathan thought sourly. He took a mix of blood and alcohol and downed it at once. He wanted clowns damn it!

-0-

Charles had easily been able to go unnoticed. The majority was expecting someone imposing; someone that oozed magic from every pore, had muscles that could rip lampposts, or that at the very least, was _tall_. No one gave him a second look, unless it was to wonder what the hell he was doing there, or if he was part of the meal.

He had passed by a few of the teenaged vampires he had seen last time. They had been talking about Leviathan, and nothing nice. Charles wondered what had happened. Leviathan had seemed pretty popular at the last event. He inched away and continued walking aimlessly. When he heard the announcement, he stayed behind with a considerable group. Apparently not everyone was invited to the other room. He wondered how long he could stay out here before someone was sent to look for him.

He stood by the food table and curiously tried a few things while he thought about what he could say. He figured he should play it by ear. Hear what they have say first.

_Yuck!_ Blood filled truffles. He had rather hoped they were strawberry filled.

"Mr Winter, you are wanted in the other room." A goblin that worked with him in the finances and investment floor in Gringotts told him with a sneer. Charles ignored the hostile face, it was the same face Charles was greeted with every time he entered Gringotts, from every goblin, and said, "Lead the way."

He followed the very put upon goblin to the other room. The room noticeably quietened at their arrival. He was guided to a plain chair in the middle of the room. The rest were sited in progressively higher chairs with nameplates indicating their species, nation and station.

He dropped ungracefully to the chair and looked up to the hundreds of faces looking down at him. If he was supposed to feel intimidated, their plan failed miserably. He has been judged by harsher powers. He was almost tempted to smile at the image he presented. A small human child with messy black hair, big bottle glasses, rumpled clothing, and as far as they could tell, with no noticeable magical power.

"Please state your name." A rather severe man that was standing close to Charles ordered. He was portly and had red hair, and apparently, Charles' interrogator.

"I am Charles Gustav Winter, son of the farmer Frank Winter," he said, following the out-dated protocol of stating his name, the name of his father and the station of his father. By what Leviathan had told him, Charles guessed they had all of his documents available to them. It served no purpose lying about it.

"A farmer! He is the son of a farmer?" a few people exclaimed in agitation, and a lot laughed in derision. Charles was not bothered. Yes, he was the son of a simple farmer. No, not the son of a Lord, or a Ruler. Not even the illegitimate son of an aristocrat. He was the son of a poor, squib, farmer, and very proud to be.

The man continued with the interrogation, seemingly unperturbed by the response.

"What is your age?"

"Nine."

"Are you human?" This seemed to be the crux of the questioning, everyone waited with baited breath for his response.

"Of course." He said. His childish voice sounding clear in the room.

The room exploded in sound. Exclamations that he was not who they were looking for, or that they had been tricked abounded. Some were even getting up with the intention of abandoning the meeting.

Charles spotted Leviathan laughing his head off.

"A true threat is insidious. It will not be seen. It will not be heard. It will not be sensed…" Seraphim quoted, his voice had not been above a whisper but it was still heard by everyone.

Charles wondered why he hadn't noticed Seraphim before. He was hard to miss after all… Charles figured that the vampire hadn't wanted for Charles to sense him. "Those who want to go, go silently." Seraphim left it clear that he wanted nothing more than for all of them to go. Those who were on their way out, thought it better, and sat back down again.

"Mr Winter it is nice to see you again under more pleasant circumstances."

Charles has noticed that the more evil they were, the more polite they behaved. Especially with their enemies.

"It is nice to see you again too, Seraphim. I was very glad to be invited," Charles responded politely, "It is the first coming of age vampire party I attend. I admit that I was expecting something a little different." Charles looked around at the hundreds of people that were watching their interaction avidly.

"It is slightly out of the norm, I admit, but we didn't want to pass out the chance of getting to know you."

"Oh?" Charles prodded, his head turned to the side in a perfect display of placid curiosity.

"Yes, after the impressive displays of magic you have performed some of us thought it prudent to get to know this budding young wizard."

"I had no idea I had done something worth mentioning," Charles commented idly.

Seraphim laughed, loudly and joyfully, "You do not need to be so modest Charles. We are among friends, no one is going to punish you."

Charles made a humming sound that could have meant anything, and did not respond. The portly stern vampire came back with vengeance; all of his veins were visible in his rage.

"You insolent child! You do not talk to Supreme Elder Seraphim as if he were your equal," He raised his arm to slap Charles for his impertinence, but suddenly, he found himself unable to move.

"Please, do calm yourself," Charles said serenely, not having moved from his chair. Seraphim smiled in victory. The feel of the room changed. Everyone sat straight on their chairs, and their eyes sharpened like hawks. The room was supposed to prevent the wizard from using wand magic.

"Did you or did you not opened a portal?" A goblin asked with the usual brusqueness and to the point attitude. His platename said he was the leader of the South clan. Charles thought about it. He could lie, but then he would always be observed. There was no way they were going to simply forget about him. And honestly speaking, _he hasn't even started_. The things he will have to do to win this war will mean that he will always be in the limelight. Spending time and energy always trying to hide his steps will be harder, and in the long run, pointless.

"I did." Waves of alarmed whispers were heard.

"How can we be sure you will not do this again?" Another asked, when the first seemed to be too shocked to continue.

"You can't."

"Are you aware that we cannot let you live with this sort of power?" An Alpha from the Blue Moon clan asked, handsome behind his face full of scars. "The power to open portals, to gather unbeatable armies, it is too dangerous. For this we can not let you walk away." He seemed regretful at Charles' imminent demise, but resolute.

"You wanted my attention, congratulations, you now have it." Charles said, finally dropping all pretence. The prey became the predator. And like a curtain falling, his posture changed, and his magic was felt around the room like a torrent of crackling malice. His smile was feral, cold and calculating. Those who had any measure of situational awareness felt a shiver of true fear.

Dealing with vampires, werewolves and goblins was not the same as dealing with wizards and humans. They were violent by nature, and only responded to violence. If he showed them his belly they will tear him apart and eat his entrails. They will not respect him unless they also feared him.

"Remember that it was _you_ who sought me out. You, who demanded, planned and conspire to get me here. Frankly I don't have an interest in any of you, and no reason to attack." More than a few felt insulted that he had no interest in them, and that they were not even important enough to attack. "I have my own enemies, and they are far stronger than all of your nations combined. If you leave me alone, I'll return the favour. But if you attack, I'll be forced to declare war."

"Are you so arrogant to declare war so easily?"

"Confident, not arrogant." Prowling forward in the slow stalking motion of a true predator, Charles dropped a small metal box to the floor, no bigger than the palm of his hand. A three-dimensional projected image of the Earth appeared, suspended in the air. "For all of you that still held doubts, yes, the Earth we live on is round. This is a projected image of the world. In a few seconds dots will appear, and for the sake of peace, I am only showing each of you the locations of places you already know."

Each vampire, werewolf and goblin paled at seeing the location of places that were _supposed to be secret!_ in display. The general location of their homes, markets and communities marked with a pulsing red dot.

"As an example I'm going to choose the home of the vampire Humerberg. Mr Humerberg, stand up so that everyone might see you. Mr Humerberg here unwisely thought to talk to my little sister and entice her to accompany him. For future reference, little girls are the worst secret keepers, and I do not take this sort of thing lightly." Everyone looked at the vampire in question and at the projected image of his home. It was blurry, but easily identifiable as a manor with extensive grounds.

"Wards down," Charles commanded. They all saw the white dome of magical wards that protected his home fall like broken crystals; the house was now shown in starling clarity. "Activate sequence beta." A countdown was shown in the side of the image, when it reached zero the house exploded. Not just exploded, it was obliterated. Nothing survived, not even the land. Even the rocks that had been part of the structure melted to lava.

Charles sent a silent apology to his mother for breaking his promise of not using weapons of mass destruction without permission

The silence could have woken the dead. The certain knowledge that they were in presence of a wizard that could _literally destroy them_ with a few words, and would not hesitate to do so, if slighted, weighted heavily on their minds.

Satellite images of all the more common magical places were showed. The silent warning clear: _I can find you anywhere; there is no place you can hide_._ No place is safe. No wards or walls that can keep me out._

It had been surprisingly easy to find the locations, Charles mussed. Most appeared slightly blurry in satellite images because of the magical interference, others did not appear at all. But if he compared an image of what the world was _supposed_ to look like, based on its mass, radius, and the effect of gravity, and superimpose both images, the real and the expected, he obtained the missing pieces. Child's play. His enemy dwelled in magical areas and he had needed a form of surveillance.

The satellite absorbed magic that was naturally present in space, so it was self-sustainable, and concentrated it as a beam to the latitude and longitude of his choosing. If the location was at another part of the world the satellite will then send the information to a series of identical satellites around the world until a satellite close to the coordinates could be found. If left for a few seconds the onslaught of concentrated raw magical power destroyed the wards; more time and it destroyed everything. An hour and he destroyed the planet, or at least made it inhospitable.

It was a risk, but he had taken precautions to ensure that would not happen. Other than he was the only person who could order an attack, the satellites will auto-destroy themselves automatically if left for more than fifteen minutes. He hadn't created a weapon as powerful in other lives because of the high risk they represented. But look how well that turned out.

In a voice that was not above a whisper, Charles said, "I ask you again, are you prepared to have me as an enemy?" _When I can find and destroy you so easily_ was left unsaid. The hundreds of pale and sick faces assured Charles that they understood.

It was a matter of survival instincts that after the shortest conference in history, the entire Goblin Nation, that included the North, the South, and the East regions, declared themselves allies, for life. Peace treaties were signed between the three dominant species, the Vampires, the Werewolves and the Goblins, at what was now tactfully called 'a meeting' –instead of an interrogation. Whether Charles liked it or not, because he was the only wizard present, he represented the Wizard population and their interests in this meeting. He was not considered an independent entity, but part of a whole.

The main point that everyone wanted clear was that, unless provoked, Charles couldn't attack. This didn't bother Charles overmuch. He had no intention of starting a war when he already had one in his hands. An extensive list of what could be considered 'sufficient provocation' was methodically crafted. The most important one to Charles was that any attack on the Winter family and associates will be considered an act of war, unless the responsible party was publicly executed by their own government, and said government could prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that they had been completely unaware of the attempt. The list was extensive, and included every possible incident that might arise in the future, and the degree of severity.

Charles specified that he wanted Leviathan to serve as envoy for the Vampires, on the basis that he was the only one he could stand for any amount of time. He did it of course so that Leviathan wouldn't get killed at the end of the night. Surprisingly, the vampire had grown on him. Charles had expected it, but it still caught him off guard when they repeatedly tried to 'suggest' more 'qualified' vampires.

When they started bickering about the details and commas Charles was ready to call it a night. He was bored out of his mind, and had a horrible headache from trying to use past knowledge to survive the law lingo, and not be taken a fool by the crafty bastards that wanted to tightly bind his hands. They had tried to coerce him into teaching his methods to the professors at the _Academy_, and to share his 'technology'.

Both 'proposals' had received a sound _No_. _No way, no hell, keep talking and I'll walk out,_ response. They had grudgingly stopped their efforts, but Charles knew this wouldn't be the last time he would hear of this.

They asked if there were others who knew of this 'teknology'. He told them that there were. They demanded to know the names. Very politely, he told them to fuck off. He had of course lied, no one knew about it. But he knew very well whom he was dealing with. If he told them that no one else knew, they will try to kill him anyway. But if they feared that someone would avenge his death by destroying, not only the responsible party, but their whole species…

Charles couldn't help comparing them to sharks and barracudas. Maybe a horde of hungry piranhas. The fact that they all had sharp, pointy teeth lead credence to the analogy. Of course, he was no harmless starfish, but still.

He took his gold watch out of his pocket and opened it. He cursed when he saw the time.

"I have to leave _now_," He said to the table at large. They had moved to a table a while ago to discuss each point of the treaties. The table held just under a hundred of the most important and influential leaders of the magical community, except for wizards that had not been invited. The unnecessary entourage had been asked to step out when they started the formalities. He had not talked too loud, but nonetheless every eye turned to him.

"We have not finished Mr Winter, it is an offence to leave the table before negotiations are complete. We can provide you with a time turner if necessary."

"A time turner will be greatly appreciated," Charles said, defeated. He slumped back to his chair and swung his legs in annoyance, they did not reach the floor.

After too many hours to count, the first draft of the negotiations was finished and they agreed to continue at another date.

Charles staggered out of the stuffy room, foul tempered, hungry and tired. He was ready to declare war on anyone who dared stop him from going home.

Of course he was mobbed the second he entered the Main room, where it seemed that no one had left. He was immediately blinded by the hundreds of camera flashes. With a wave of his hand every light bulb on the cameras exploded and he received momentary peace from the flashing lights. However, his reprieve was short lived.

"Can we have you as a guest speaker at the Academy?"

"Can you autograph my napkin?"

"How did you managed for the horse to die of 'old age' when they were at that bridge causing the vampire to topple and fall to his death while you were eating pasta at a restaurant on the other side of the world?"

"How did you cause that earthquake in Alaska that buried alive five vampires which caused them to drink the blood of fish that incidentally had high levels of mermaid scale while you were sunbathing in the Sahara desert drinking white wine and teaching poker to the natives?"

"Are you really human?"

"Were you part of an experiment?"

Charles couldn't believe what he was hearing. Causing an earthquake in Alaska? Killing a _horse_? What the hell? Vampires were worse gossipmongers than humans if they couldn't keep simple facts from extravagant fantasy. No wonder they were so obsessive, they thought him some super-human, all-knowing, all-powerful overlord.

Seeing a twitch start to develop on the boy's left eye, Leviathan intervened.

"Go away Vultures. He's mine." With that he guided Charles to the doors, liberally maiming those who didn't move out of their way. He may have enjoyed it a little _too_ much, but it was only to be expected after the horrible treatment he had been subjected to by this very same people.

Leviathan heard the only voice among the crowd that could have made him stop.

"Levi, won't you introduce us to your friend?" He stood frozen and felt Charles' curiosity by his side. Leviathan looked back. Leandro looked more beautiful than normal, if such a thing was even possible, and he was looking at him, _really_ looking at him. He had talked to Leviathan in the pretence of fixing their friendship to get invitations for him and his friends to the party. Leviathan had been pathetically exited and hopeful, only to be ignored until now.

A part of him still wanted to be accepted, even after everything. And he couldn't help that his heart still jumped at Leandro's sight. But he wasn't looking at him was he? Leviathan thought despondently, He was greedily looking at Charles.

"Leandro Marshall from the Redrover Coven," He said arrogantly, sticking out his hand and deliberately looking at Charles up and down. There was not much to look at, Leviathan thought, the boy was only nine. But Leandro has always been attracted to power, not physical appearance.

Leviathan looked at the outstretched hand and at the unmoving boy. _This is it. The only person that didn't hate him will go with them. And how could he blame Charles? He would go with them if only they would accept him. He might even settle for less. At this point he would be happy just to stand silently nearby and not be insulted._

The level of coldness he felt from Charles surprised Leviathan. And it served as a cold shower from his pathetic, depressing thoughts. He was better than that. He had to believe that. He felt better after the silent pep talk.

As the person with more power, Charles did the most insulting thing he could have done to Leandro at that moment. Charles dismissed him. He simply turned his back and kept walking. Stunned, but strangely gleeful, Leviathan followed.

When they reached the door a guard stopped them. The experience was light years away from the last time Charles confronted a vampire guard. "Mr Winter, your time turner and portkey," the guard presented the objects to him, bowed, and repeated the traditional vampire farewell. As expected from someone who was leagues above the station of a simple vampire guard, Charles did nothing or acknowledged the farewell.

Charles sighed and faced Leviathan, "Thank you for all your help, and I'm sorry I ruined your birthday."

Before Leviathan could let himself feel any joy over that comment, he cautiously asked, "You do know why they hate me right?"

Charles thought about it. No one had outright said anything, just slurs and the utmost desire to kill him in the most humiliating way. "I heard a few things. But no, no one has said anything in my presence."

Leviathan exhaled loudly, and thought to just get it over with. Charles was bound to find out sooner or later. It was better for Leviathan to feel the hate and disgust now, than to be caught off guard later.

"I…I…well, you see, it's kind of like this…I sort of…maybe…possibly" the impatience and irritation Leviathan felt from Charles made him blurt it out, "like men."

Leviathan closed his eyes, and unconsciously flinched. This was the first time he had actually said it out loud, he realized. He tried to steel himself for the hate, disgust and antipathy, and he tried so hard that it took him a while to understand the feelings coming from Charles.

Deep uncaring. The kind of feeling he would expect after someone told him his Great Aunt Dolores just died. Nothing, not happiness or sadness, or any other feeling. He opened his eyes to see that Charles' face that mirrored his feelings. Bored. He really did not care one way or another. It did not affect him so it did not matter.

"You are the nicest person I have ever met," Leviathan said, wiping a tear from his eye. He was slightly drunk and emotional. The stress of his birthday party, being ignored by his love, thinking this was his last night, and now this.

"That's really sad because I'm not a very nice person."

"No, you are not very nice at all." Leviathan agreed tearfully.

Charles laughed. "You really are the worst at consoling."

"Likewise." This was the boy that told him that 'death wasn't so bad,' after all. Leviathan would have committed suicide, had he been braver, after those 'kind' words.

"Oh, and by the way," Charles said, stopping on his way to the exit and looking back, "Congratulations on your new Head Advisor of the Vampire Community post, I'll see you Monday morning."

With a wicked smirk, Charles used the portkey before Leviathan could gather his wits to comment. Leaving Leviathan stunned and open-mouthed.

He took a glittering handkerchief from his pale pink robes and dabbed his eyes, enjoying deeply the sneers at the offending piece of glitter.

"Clowns!" He exclaimed happily, taking the bound and gagged men by their binds. "You are coming with me!" he squealed.

"We are _celebrating!_" He stole few of the bottles, food and his new plant along his way. And proceeded to drag the goods to his private rooms, singing an off-key tune at the top of his lungs. It was his birthday party, and it was time to start enjoying it. With his only true friend, a turtle named Sally.

And clowns, just because.

END OF CHAPTER

* * *

><p>DELETED SCENCES and Authors notes<p>

(Things that had to be cut but that I liked them anyways. Read them if you want. I can go on and on for eternity, but the story is already too big. And some of you are impatient with the slow pace of the story, so to move it along, I tend to cut parts. Sometimes I use them in later chapters, sometimes I don't. Since we are moving to part II none of this can be reused, unless I do flashback, which I don't plan to. This is for those of you who are interested in more_)_

_-This comes right after Charles portkey'ed out- _

"I'm hungry!" Charles sobbed at Marianne's skirts, looking up at her with pleading eyes.

"Didn't you eat at the event?" She questioned with a smile, a small baby on her arms.

"Mean old men didn't give me anything," Charles pouted.

"Come on then, I'll see if the cook falls for your cheap manipulations."

They entered the kitchens to find everyone gorging on cakes and tea, as one, everyone looked up with a guilty, hand-caught-in-the-cookie-jar expression. Or the cockroach that had just been found by a human method, the 'if I stay really still maybe he won't notice me' theory.

"Well this is just unfair," Charles said with a scowl, "_Et tu, Penny?_" he asked in disappointment and betrayal. "I know that mama and Tom are deserters of the worst kind, but I thought you and I had a special bond. That I could always trust in you." Penny offered him her soggy lime bun as a peace offering.

"Charles eat something and stop being dramatic," Tom chastised.

Charles bottom lip trembled until a plate was put under his nose.

-0-

_-This was originally part of the last chapter with the vampires. It's supposed to be funny and not taken seriously-_

"What took you so long? You were supposed to be interrogating a single witch of over one hundred years."

"Well sir, we had some complications, you see…" The young vampire nervously scratched his neck

"Explain," the Elder commanded.

"Please sir…"

"My patience with you is running out," he warned.

"Well you see… she… ah…got sexually aroused with the torture, in her words 'best fun she'd had in years', and we had to change methods… she cracked after an hour of puppet show."

"I see."

"She told us their names, and that she sold them her old cottage in the country. Her claims are true but the cottage has long since ceased to exist. We believe it's heavily guarded to the extent of… disappearing."

"What information yielded the orphanage?"

"It had their papers alright but two of them were fake and one under 'no name' female fitted the age of the last. The second boy, Tom M. Riddle, was born to Tom Riddle, muggle, and Merope Riddle, which we suspect, was Merope Gaunt after investigating the father. A few of the children and the matron remember them talking in German. There's no documentation of a Winter family previously living in Germany. We believe is a false surname used with the sole purpose of distracting us."

"Kill her then,"

"Ah…well…you see. She escaped."

"She escaped." He repeated, his left eye twitching.

"Apparently she had the means to escape all along and only stayed out of her own will. We identified Mr Winter's magic on the device she used."

-0-

_-Conversation between Frank and Anna. Got cut because I promised myself to only make 1 chapter focusing on them. Nothing more. And that chapter was almost reaching the 10,000+ words as it was. I managed to squeeze in the 'Annabelle and Healer' part in this chapter and the 'Annabelle and Weapons' part in last chapter, but this conversation didn't make the cut. I just couldn't squeeze it in without having to add a lot more. And Frank becomes more important later in the story. Annabelle was the one that needed development in this part of the story. -_

"Penny had another panic attack today,"

"What happened?" Annabelle asked worriedly.

"My fault, I forgot and startled her while we were alone in the library." He sighed, "Anna, she destroyed everything. The windows exploded, the floor trembled…I thought we will get buried in there. Charles had to come in and calm her. He told me it was worse, before. Anna…I don't know what to do. Every time I seem to be getting closer, something happens that reminds me how out of my league I am, how unprepared I am to deal with them."

"How do you think I feel? You don't know true fear until your five months old little boy is floating out your reach and into a twenty-foot high fall."

"I remember, you attached strings to his nappy after that."

-0-

"Tom told me today under no uncertain terms that I was not allowed to touch his food. Apparently peas do not go side by side with carrots."

Frank widened his eyes in mock surprise, "You didn't Annabelle! You broke the most important rule of food arrangement."

"I know, I know. Green cannot be side by side with orange. Rounds go together only if they have the same colour. Cooked and non-cooked foods are not allowed to mix. I basically went against everything," she said with an exasperated but fond smile.

"Spicy and not spicy go on opposite sides and that has to somehow fit in the colour scheme." Frank continued. They shared an amused, exasperated smile.

"If I already didn't know that my son" "-_your_ son?" Frank interrupted with mirth, "yes, _my _son was brilliant and talented, the fact that he has every one of Tom's rules memorized would be a very big hint."

_-I imagine Tom being very picky and anal about his food. Just as Penny likes unusual mixes of flavours to compensate the fact that she had practically tasteless food for her whole life in the orphanage, Tom is very controlling and obsessive about his food. Food is very important to them because of their history at the orphanage, but they express their scars in different ways. Because Penny lived less time in the orphanage than Tom, she doesn't have his obsession with consistency and following a structure schedule. Given a choice, Tom will have the same breakfast everyday, the same lunch and the same dinner. It is just what he grew up knowing, its familiar and comforting. Of course, he is seldom given the choice because he lives with people who wouldn't stand eating the same thing everyday. I never had a chance to explain this. It's not important to the plot, just details of how I imagine them. It helps me with character development, and to see them as three dimensional characters. It is useful to not fall into Mary Sue's traps or clichés, but I can't always include them.-_


	29. Chapter 29: Summer of 1938

**Chapter 29: The Summer of 1938**

**November 1937**

"If you fall in the lake, I won't call for help," Tom warned Penny when he saw her on her way to ice skate on the recently frozen lake in the backyard. Tom sat under a shade he and Charles had charmed one summer so that the area around the tree will always seem like summer.

"Help? From you? Believe me I know better than to wish on empty wells," Penny bit back.

Tom shrugged, unconcerned. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

When she inevitably fell through the ice, Tom turned the page of the book he was reading and continued with the adventures of Odysseus.

Sadly, she resurfaced, and dragged herself back to shore. Soaked, blue and crying, she made her way back to the house. To tell her sob story to someone who cared, Tom supposed. It would probably win her pity points. He might even get punished, but not too harshly. Annabelle never denied him food, or a bed, or his room, no matter what he did or how bad he messed up, so he wasn't worried.

He had told Penny not to do it, and that there was a high chance of the ice breaking, in an indirect sort of way. She had _chosen_ to go on in spite of his advice. If her own stupidity got her killed, well, it was not Tom's fault was it?

Penny would probably get a long speech about safety, thinking things through, and when in doubt, seek advice. Tom estimated he had a few hours before someone would come and talk to him. Just enough time to finish the book.

-0-

"If you would just listen," Tom implored.

"No!" Charles shouted, "I do not want to hear your carefully crafted excuses. I am sure they are perfectly logical, and explain how, really, you are the victim in all this. Just- just, go away," Charles said, more in weary resignation than in anger. Charles reached his door, -and wasn't he glad he had his own room-, and closed it before Tom could enter.

The door trembled with what could have been a kick, punch, or magical push from Tom, but held. Charles was more than capable of warding his room against Tom. Charles figured his door would last longer than the world with all the reinforcement it had.

"Trouble in paradise?" An unwelcomed voice called from _inside his rooms_. Charles was going to kill Leviathan if he didn't explained in the next second what he was doing in his room.

"_Emergencies_, Leviathan!" Charles hissed, "For your safety I hope the bloody world is ending." Sensing his imminent death, Leviathan quickly explained.

"A letter from Seraphim," Leviathan showed him the thick envelop as proof, and shield.

"Are you a bloody owl now?" Charles took the letter and carelessly dropped it into a huge pile of unopened mail. "Even the feathered animals know to deliver it in the morning."

"Seraphim said it was an emergency."

"And if Seraphim said it, it must be." Charles ridiculed. "Good God! You really think they hate you because you like men? Are you really that dense? That is their excuse for this century, next century they will find another, and so on. They hate you because you are weak. Grow up and see the world for how it is. They hate, undermine, and slowly try to destroy you from the inside out for their own sick amusement. While some may see it as a form of control, others as a way to eliminate you before you have a chance to rise; pick a reason, any reason."

"I see I arrived in a bad moment. I'll take my leave," said Leviathan, a bit coldly.

"No." Charles deflated. This was _exactly_ why he had wanted to be alone. No, why he _needed_ to be alone while he cooled off. "I'm sorry. I'm not mad at you. My anger and frustration with Tom is jut bleeding thru."

"What did he do?" Leviathan asked curiously. He was hurt, but he could deal with that later. The cocktail of negative emotions rolling off Charles was unusual for the calm boy with unusually tight control over his emotions. But he felt more _alive _than Leviathan had ever felt him. Too bad that 'alive' was partnered off with '_meaner'_.

"It is more of what he didn't do. He just… doesn't care." Charles explained, frustrated and hurt. No, Leviathan corrected, betrayed. He was feeling betrayed. Walking back and forward like a caged animal.

"He cares," Leviathan assured him.

Charles looked at Leviathan sharply. "I assure you, he doesn't."

"He cares about you. A lot. But that is not enough for you, is it?"

"No. It's not enough."

Leviathan looked at Charles, and decided, since Charles had no problem speaking his mind, without any concern for anyone, but his own selfish need to lash out, Leviathan could return the favour. With a little spice.

"You are an hypocrite Charles Winter. How are you any different from him? You only care for a select group, and the rest could rot in hell and you wouldn't bat one single pretty eyelash. How is it any different from what he does? The fact that he doesn't include those you wish him to include? Horribly selfish of you, isn't? No, don't try to deny it." Leviathan interrupted when Charles opened his mouth to deny or excuse it, "It's no use lying to an empath."

Charles stood still for a few moments, nodded in resignation and sat down. Not the reaction Leviathan was expecting. It was hard to see oneself in a mirror, and see the flaws, but apparently Charles could confront the truth with some dignity.

"What I tried to say earlier," Charles tried to explain, "was that you live in the secluded, and privileged, ruling class, and that from what I have gathered, your normal everyday vampires don't usually give a shit who you are attracted to because they don't live in clusters. But in the small, vicious, cluster of vampires you normally associate with, have a lot of hate and envy, and for them it is easier to hate if they can discriminate somehow. The muggle world is a good supplier of reasons to discriminate, and right now homosexuality is a heated topic with the muggles." _And blacks, and women, and disabled, and Jews, and old people… and imaginary magic, they would hate the real one if the manage to find it too. _

"I don't know if that makes it better or worse," Leviathan admitted thoughtfully. "The fact that they hate me for something I can't change, or for something that if I change, would leave me beyond recognition."

"I have seen how Joseph looks at Mark when he thinks no one is looking," Charles helpfully supplied the bit of dirt in the hope of making him feel better.

Leviathan light up, "Joseph? Really? He's the president of the: I hate Leviathan and homosexuals in general, but especially Leviathan crew. Or the IHLAHIGBEL crew for short. Stupid name if you ask me, horrible to put on buttons, but my name really does add something to it, you know."

"I know. They invited me."

"And you said no, right? Preferably followed by a strong and powerful: Never! Leviathan is the best, most beautiful and perfect vampire in the world. I love and adore him and I think he has a sexy ass."

Charles hurled a very solid pillow him that made a satisfying '_thump_'. "I don't know." Charles said smiling, "They make a mean pizza, and the bear hunt sounds pretty fun. Decent health plans too. And your white, skinny ass wouldn't attract a starving mother wolf." Leviathan scowled, but the warm elated feeling in his stomach was not stomach acid. Charles was joking with him. The only black cloud was that his feelings were only superficial; on the background he was still tense about the fight with his brother.

"Everything will work out in the end," Leviathan said out of nowhere.

"How can you so sure?" Charles asked.

"Because you both care too much," Leviathan said simply.

* * *

><p>"Tom, we have heard Penny's side of the matter and your side of the matter, and we have decided that you are right." Annabelle and Frank sat in front of Tom after having tended to Penny.<p>

"We did?" Frank asked, looking at Annabelle in surprise. They should have discussed this first, Annabelle thought belatedly.

"Yes," She squeezed Frank's hand in warning, "Tom, you did warn her, in your own way, and she acknowledge that she knew that if something were to happen she'd be on her own. Her safety is _our_ responsibility, and hers. We already discussed with her what activities are not appropriate to do unsupervised, and we hope this will never happen again," Annabelle smiled, "We are proud of you for doing something you did not, _necessarily_, had to do, and we thought that maybe you'll want a pet of your own."

Tom smiled, surprised and victorious. "A snake?" He pushed.

"Whatever you want. Go put a jacket, I'll go with you now." Tom got up and carefully closed the door, when Frank made to speak, Annabelle held a hand for him to stop, and after calmly sipping from her tea said, "Tom if you don't hurry up the store will close."

Carefully even steps were heard. Annabelle sipped again from her cup, waited a few seconds and in a stern voice said, "Tom if you are not here, ready, and with a jacket in less than five minutes we will not go."

Hurried shuffle was heard, followed by someone running up the marble stairs. Annabelle nodded to Frank.

"Anna, No punishment? A snake? Please tell me you haven't lost it." Annabelle swatted his head and glared at him. "I mean, please explain your brilliance," he corrected with a sheepish smile.

"I know what I'm doing. Frank," She sighed, "its Tom," she looked at him pointedly, "he could have pushed her to the lake, convinced her to swim in it, or used magic to seal the lake once she fell. _He didn't_. And I think that's something."

"He didn't help her either," Frank muttered angrily.

"But he didn't hinder her, or placed her in danger himself." Annabelle cut Frank before he could remark and said, "We do more harm than good if we compare him to other kids. Tom is Tom, and he'll move at Tom's pace. Let's celebrate little victories, and not try to force him to change in one night. It's just not realistic, and would only force him to constantly lie and hide. I fear that if we punish him now maybe he will not even bother to tell her it's a bad idea next time. But maybe if we congratulate him for that small warning maybe next time he'll try to do a little more. And pets are wonderful for children. Hopefully he'll learn to care, help another being and maybe learn to be little more compassionate. We can always hope, can't we?"

She truly believed that punishment would only serve to alienate Tom from the family. From what she has learned, Tom was familiar with yells and punishment from those in authority, but maybe if they reward those few, small things he does from time to time, he would do them more often.

Annabelle nodded decisively, and hoped to God she was doing the right thing. They dropped the conversation a few minutes before Tom was due to arrive.

"Ready to leave?"

"Yes, Annabelle."

Annabelle smiled warmly at him. It might be a manipulation technique, but she had ample experience in little boys trying to manipulate her into agreeing to allow some or other nuclear/hydroid weapon/bomb/device inside the house/surrounding lands/another country to be worried. Still manipulation or not, she felt happy for the change.

"So, why a snake?" Annabelle listened attentively, and hid her fear and dislike for the animals. She shared what she knew of snakes, and did not add that she knew it because she used to kill them in her land.

"Magical snakes eh? Well, if you think that's better. Do they have a shorter lifespan? –Centuries?" She laughed nervously, with slightly hysterical edge, and twirled a piece of hair in her hand. "Ah, well…how _interesting_."

* * *

><p><strong>Summer 1938, <strong>

"Can everyone settle down? We are about to begin." Headmaster Dippet called over the conversations, when he finally got the attention of all the professors he started the meeting. "Alright then, first order of business, I talked with the board of directors and they agreed to raise our food budget." A round of applauses was heard. "Did everyone finish their class schedule? All right then, pass them up. These are the final dates for the quidditch games and Hogsmade weekends; make sure you have them on your calendar. Next up is choosing this year's prefects, Head Boy and Head Girl, please fill out your suggestions under the appropriate House and pass them to the front when you are finished." The meting ran smoothly, it was the same every year.

"Now, I know you are all ready to leave but we still have one more thing to discuss. It has come to my attention by some of you that we did not include one eleven year old on our list for this year batch. Do not fret, this was not a mistake of the official list or myself. After careful consideration, a meeting of the board and hearing the advice of some of you" Headmaster Dippet looked pointedly at Dumbledore, "It was decided that Charles Winter will not be admitted to Hogwarts."

"Headmaster, you must reconsider!" Professor Miranda Goshawk demanded with all the impetuousness of the young and righteous.

"What is there to reconsider? Cases involving non-human children with magical abilities are individually considered and up to the discretion of the Headmaster. I was told the boy was a danger to the school. Furthermore, Charles Winter was not born in England, he is a foreigner. In short, someone else's problem."

The Headmaster quickly lost control of the meeting and everyone started talking over each other or in groups about what they knew.

"He is no more danger to the school than any other little boy that crosses our doorstep."

"Is it, or it is not, true that he assaulted a Healer a few years back?" One person demanded.

"Those charges were dropped," someone supplied over the hubbub.

"It was preposterous to charge him in the first place, it was an obvious case of accidental magic. He was nine for peeks sake!"

"That Healer, George Montgomery, I knew him well. He was a bully as a child and he was a bully as an adult. The hospital did right in discharging him."

"Yes, yes, I heard that. He had been antagonizing the child hadn't he? Poor dear, I heard from my friend that the child was tested and gave positive to high levels of unstable magic. The official report said the child had been under unknown previous duress and that the Healer's antagonistic attitude caused the child's magic to lash out."

"How did you find that out?" – "Well, you remember my nephew, Sammy, he is an auror, told me all about it. Said someone high up helped the boy." –"Who?" –" Jim Ross he said. Said he personally came to the offices and forced the hand of those who wanted to prosecute the nine year-old."

"Curious, why he would do that?"

"Don't know. Hyperion Malfoy was also rumoured to put pressure on the hospital. It was the scandal of the year and cost a lot of friends to the Malfoys but they didn't back down and the court case was won."

"I heard about that. It was hard to miss. The papers could not stop talking about it and the repercussions on Minister Nott's campaign."

"Order! Order! Can we please calm down?" Dippet bellowed. The noise dropped considerably but a few kept whispering the details of the event.

"Headmaster, I have known Charles Winter since the boy was seven and have kept on and off contact with him all of this years, I can sincerely say that that boy is not a danger and is in fact a very intelligent and charming boy," Professor Miranda Goshawk said more calmly.

"Very intelligent?" Hesper Gamp-Black snorted, "The boy is a verifiable genius. He helped me with my master's thesis and has corrected three advance arithmetic books before the age of ten. Depriving him of a magical education would not only be wrong, but very dangerous. Hogwarts has a responsibility to teach young wizards not only how to use their magic, but how to not abuse them. I shiver to think about leaving an intelligent and ambitious child to his own devices with no responsible adult guiding him in the right path."

"His parents are squibs, the boy needs Hogwarts!"

That comment caused another round of murmurs. "Squibs?"/"Weren't they filed as missing?"/"What happened to them?"

"I do not think that letting a boy into Hogwarts that has previously shown such high levels of aggression and anger to be safe for others," Dumbledore argued calmly, and this offhanded comment stopped all conversation.

"And what do you suggest we do?" Someone said snidely, "Leave him to possibly never learn to control his magic? Or worse yet, to find someone Dark to guide him?"

"It is curious that you would think that way Dumbledore," Merrythought interrupted, her face a mask calm, "considering you were once a very powerful child yourself. I remember seeing a redheaded child ready to be sorted with enough power to destroy the castle and all its inhabitants had he wished. What do you think would have happened had the adults around him had decided he was 'just too dangerous' to be taught?" Merrythought said sharply. "But they did not shun you, did they? No, they were supportive and believed in you and your ability to control yourself. And you turned out to be a fine, responsible wizard. If we do not take into account your recent slip. Denying a child what you were freely offered does not speak highly of you, Mr Dumbledore."

Everyone was in mute silence, never having seen old Merrythought this mad. Or with such a sharp tongue. The air filled with tension, and everyone was looking back and forward between Dumbledore and Merrythought.

"The issue will be… rethought", Dippet said diplomatically.

* * *

><p>"Four hour walk from the closest apparition point, and no floo network, this is simply barbaric! How dare they treat us so!" Slughorn exclaimed in agitation. His face was red from exertion.<p>

"Now, now, it's not that bad. The grounds are simply majestic. For one I am glad for the opportunity to walk around in them." Dumbledore pacified.

"Had I known, I would have left you both to it and stayed behind," Dippet moaned.

"There comes another one," Slughorn said. The third luxurious carriage in an hour passed them by without so much as a by-your-leave. Resigned to walking the rest of the way, they continued. The first hour had been manageable. They had seen a lot of sheep, pigs, chickens, cows, horses and other farm animals, vegetable fields that looked as if they could feed two Hogwarts, and what they recognized as a cheese factory, and the sign that indicated that there was a wine cellar. Small houses dotted the land, and people went around their business without any mind for the foreigners.

Assuming the people were muggles none of them had dared to use magic.

"Oh my!" Slughurn exclaimed when the manor came to view. "I did not realize they were quite so wealthy."

To their surprise, when they arrived at the door, sweating and panting, a human servant opened it.

What kind of barbarians owned humans as servants? To put a person in the same level as a House Elf was more than insulting, it was a crime to civilised society and the year the lived in.

"Marianne?" Dumbledore asked shocked. He recognized her as the squib daughter of a friend of his.

"Professor Dumbledore," She greeted neutrally, if a bit coldly, "Professor Slughorn, Headmaster Dippet. We expected you tomorrow, not today."

"Yes, well. Today was more convenient," Dippet said pompously.

"Then you should have made this known and another date would have been planned. I am sorry to say that the family is busy today and unable to attend you."

"I'll say! What- What is the meaning of this?" Dippet spluttered. "Do you know who I am, girl?"

"What the Headmaster is trying to say, Marianne, is that we have come a long way for this. Is it not possible to take a few seconds of their time?" He did not notice the cold look she sent him for speaking to her in such a familiar way, even if she was disinherited and could not lay any claim to what used to be her last name.

"I'll talk with the Lady or Young Master to see if something can be arranged." She invited them to come in and left them in a waiting room to the side of the entrance. Slughorn let out a pleased hum at the extravagance of their surroundings. Tall windows showed the splendid view of the grounds, and everything was arranged to best advantage the natural beauty of the room.

Before they could get too comfortable Marianne returned.

"Young Master has generously permitted that you stay in guest rooms until the schedule meeting tomorrow." She said stiffly, obviously not in agreement.

"Wonderful, simply wonderful!" Slughorn exclaimed, all his previous grouchiness banished at the sight of wealth.

"That'll be greatly appreciated Marianne," Dumbledore said with a soft smile.

"We have many guests staying in. For your own safety do not leave your rooms come nightfall, or at least stay in the same wing of the house." She said as she led them down the hall.

"Your Majesty," she said demurely, bowing down to a man they passed in the hall.

"Is that-? Is that?" Slughorn stuttered with a slack jaw. The next person they met caused Slughorn to stumble over his long robes. "Was that-?"

"Please Gentlemen, do not dally." Marianne chided.

"What is happening here today?" Dumbledore asked curiously. They met a group of people talking outside a set of double doors, all richly dressed and obviously waiting for the doors to open. Before they rounded a corner, the doors opened and they had a glimpse of the imposing room at the other side.

"I am not in the liberty to speak such things," Marianne said haughtily, and with gleeful pleasure if one knew what to look for.

"Surely, you can tell us."

"It is none of your business, you do well to remember that."

"Marianne, what are you doing here, working as a servant? Your family wouldn't have wanted this for you," Dumbledore said sadly.

"_My family" _she said with obvious derision, "had no trouble leaving me in the streets after the Minister prohibited squibs from working in the wizarding world. _My dear loving family_ left me to die of hunger and cold. Thanks to the kindness of this family I have a job, a safe roof for myself and my daughter, and plenty of food. I am treated with respect, as every human deserves, whether they have magic or not. It is more of what the _grandiose wizarding world_ offered me."

"Bobby, take them to the South Wing," she snapped at another young man, also a squib from a prominent family, and left them in a huff.

"Bobby?" Slughorn questioned, "Weren't you named Barthimides?"

"That was before, when they still thought I was magical. Now I just go by Bobby." The young man shrugged, uncaring.

In an uncomfortable, and shamed, silence they were taken to their rooms. It was not easy to be confronted with the consequences of legislations that tried to keep the magical community, well, _magical_. If asked, they would say that they didn't approve of it, but since it didn't affect them personally they were more comfortable ignoring it.

"Gentlemen, you have been invited to break fast with the family." A butler, one that they did not recognise, told them in the morning. "Please, change into appropriate garments," he said when he noticed that Dumbledore was ready to go down on his orange sleepwear and that Slughorn had an unseemly formal jacket.

He was still waiting for them when they came out again, more suitably dressed, and guided them to the sunroom. They were met with a large table, and the family already sitting. A handsome man in his late thirties stood up to greet them.

"Gentlemen," he nodded and smiled warmly, "I am Frank Winter, my wife Annabelle and our children, our eldest Abigael, followed by Charles and Tom, and our youngest Penelope." He pointed to a gently smiling woman, that seemed to have a natural poise and grace, a beautiful young lady, two bickering boys of about the same age, and girl that seemed to be liberally adding peppers to her cereal.

"Children, these are the professors of Hogwarts Albus Dumbledor and Slughorn, and the Headmaster Armando Dippet." With less ceremony than they had expected, the professors sat at the table and started to eat.

"But they really aren't all _your _children correct? Two of them are adopted" Dippet questioned. The files of Winter family were a well known secret. A family appearing out of nowhere caused people to talk. All of their 'dirty secrets' were well known. The father was a squib, the mother a squib and veela, the eldest a squib, and two adopted magicals, presumably to force themselves into the magical community. The only saving grace of the family was the brother of Frank Winter, a passionate historian. But even he was only just a peg above a squib.

"I assure you, they are our children in everything that counts," Annabelle said softly. But the children were very aware that she had her 'keep talking and see what happens' face.

"I am sorry to interrupt," Marianne said, "but the Russian Minister of Magic demands an audience."

"Is he here?" Annabelle asked without pausing in buttering her bread.

"Yes, he has just arrived."

Annabelle sighed, "Tell him to join us then."

Annabelle got up to meet the guests this time, "Boris," she smiled warmly, "and you brought Olga, how are you dear?"

They sat and talked pleasantly as old friends for a few minutes.

"Miss, I am sorry for interrupting again, but the French envoy has arrived ahead of schedule. He says it's urgent." Dumbledore couldn't help noticing that Marianne looked briefly at Charles.

"It's always urgent, isn't Boris?" They both shared amused chuckles. "Send him in. I wouldn't want to keep him waiting, and there is food for everyone."

Slughorn looked ready to faint, almost salivating with excitement. Dippet looked deeply uncomfortable and stiff, he was used to always being the most important person at the table. And Dumbledore was his usual cheery self, asking the Minister of Russia to pass the orange and pepper jam.

The French envoy, a young man of about twenty, entered the room and looked surprised to be invited to sit and eat breakfast. He sat in a combination of stiffly and jittery.

Boris and Olga were speaking amicably with the family, and of nothing of consequence.

The reason of why became obvious when Annabelle said, "Please no business at the breakfast table," to the over eager French envoy that had began to explain his reason of being there with the prying professors.

"We have enough of it as it is for the rest of the day," Frank said gently, with a small, amused smile at the twenty-something boy. The boy went completely red, and docked his head.

"Charles, really, eat something," Annabelle gently chided to Charles that was almost falling asleep in his oatmeal. "You can go to sleep after breakfast, I'm sure the professors won't mind." She looked at the professors for confirmation, and Slughurn quickly assured her it was no problem before without actually knowing what she had asked of them.

"Mr Winter, don't you have a brother? I believe by the name of Charles Winter?" Dumbledore asked.

"Yes, yes I do." Frank said after swallowing a piece of toast.

"Is he here by any chance?"

Frank, and most of the table, chuckled. "Yes, he is somewhere around, probably buried under an old dusty book."

"Ah, yes I have heard tales of him and his passion for collecting the rare."

The majority of the population knew Charles Winter, the thirty something man with premature greying hair, brother of Frank Winter as a researcher. He was described as a charismatic and handsome scholar with a passion for the old civilizations and books. Not really powerful, or politically ambitious. Not someone anyone would consider dangerous or important. Only some of the magical leaders, like Boris and Olga, knew better. The small group of leaders of the magical community around the world that had gained knowledge of the peace treaties because of their close involvement with the magical creatures were under secrecy contracts.

He was not known with the wizards in England, mainly because he had no interest in them, and they had no interest in the magical beings, but his research had taken him many places, places where he needed permission from either the magical, muggle, or creature authorities to research.

Breakfast ended with two more additions, and the professors were invited to wander around until the time of the meeting. After exploring the gardens, they ended in the library. The manor had only three floors, each two and a half meters tall. So they hadn't expected the library to be five floors, with more books than the Hogwarts library, and full of people.

"Who are these people?" Dippet questioned with a frown.

"Researchers, academics, historians, and apprentices." All three professors looked back to see Tom standing behind them.

"I did not see all that many people arrive yesterday."

Tom looked at him weirdly, "They do not enter thru the house. There are other doorways and exits for those that are invited in."

"Invited?" Dumbledore asked.

"This is not a _public_ library," Tom said with distaste at the mere idea. Tom left them to their own devices and went off into the library without any more explanation.

"Well, gentlemen, call me when its time." Dippet said with satisfaction. He was known lover of books. There was a rumour that Dippet spent all of his money in a library instead of using it to find a wife.

Dumbledore and Slughorn wandered together and found out that they couldn't enter some of the floors, or access certain rows of books. An invisible, but solid, barrier prevented them from walking forward certain paths or stairs.

A young muggleborn wizard that had recognized the professors told them that they needed permission from the owners to access certain parts or the Library, and confided that he was working with the elder Charles Winter in an architectural site in Egypt. He couldn't say much more than that, and was in a hurry to get back to his research.

-0-

The meting had just started when Dippet pronounced with a wide smile, "After speaking with you and your parents, Hogwarts will be happy to welcome you on September first."

Three pairs of eyes stared at him in confusion. They hadn't even talked…or known that Charles' place in Hogwarts had been questioned.

Slughorn was smiling in hungry delight at Charles and his parents, while Dumbledore was mostly ashamed at his co-workers greedy attitude.

"Thank you for your…_gracious_ consideration," There was a slight sarcasm to it, but almost everyone decided to overlook it, "but I must decline."

"No." Annabelle said quickly, "He won't decline. If you'll excuse us gentleman, I wish to speak to my son in private." Without waiting for a response, she took his hand and lead him out of the room.

"It's obvious who has the pants in the relationship!" Slughorn said jestingly. Frank ignored the comment and proceeded to ask them about the school.

"Mama you know why I can't go." Charles said once they were outside.

"Charles Gustav Winter, you are going and that is final." She said sternly

"I have too many responsibilities and you are still not well."

"Your only responsibility is to grow up healthy and happy. Don't worry about us, we'll be fine."

"I can't just leave everything unattended for most part of the year."

"There is always post and summer vacations." She reasoned, "The world turned when you weren't around to watch it, you know," She lightly teased.

"I don't want to leave everyone behind." Charles tried again.

"We are plenty busy. Abby is in her rebellious stage, rolling her eyes and everything, it's so cute. And Penny in her 'you are so unfair' stage. We won't even notice your absence." Charles scowled and Annabelle laughed.

"Go. Have fun, play with other children, learn, and be happy. The world can wait until you grow up."

"I already know enough."

"No, my son, you don't. You still have much to learn." Annabelle said sadly, cupping his cheek with her hand.

"What if something happens to you?" Charles asked worriedly, finally revelling his true fear.

"I'll be here when you come back, I promise."

* * *

><p><strong>September 1 1938<strong>

"Go away! You're embarrassing us!" Tom moaned, looking worriedly around. On the last few days Annabelle had mysteriously gone from partially deaf, to completely deaf, but only around Tom's insistence that Annabelle shouldn't come to see them off.

Annabelle dabbed her eyes, "It's just –it's just that you both look so handsome, and grown up. Oh my God! I can't believe you are all grown up. _I feel so old!_"

"You can believe I have the power to start world wars, but you can't believe I'm eleven?" Charles asked cheekily.

"Oh, It was not hard to believe you'd be trouble. I'd been convinced of that since you were on my belly. You kicked like you were learning martial arts in there. That's why I gave you a second name. I knew you would cause me a lot of trouble, and that I would need that extra second name to make a strong impact."

"Mama! Maybe Tom has a point if you are bringing baby stories…"

"Anna, stop embarrassing the boys." Said boys looked gratefully at Frank, until Frank gave them an evil grin. "Save it for when they come back. We'll be here waiting for you with big banners."

"All right, we are leaving! I will not miss any of you," Tom said, starting to drag his trunk with one hand and Charles with another.

"I love you too, Tom. And I'll miss you terribly, especially the wet towels on the floor and the rivers of snot when you get sick."

"Charles' right. You have a horrible sense of humour. You should not try to be funny outside your mind."

"Bye, I'll miss you guys," Charles said.

"Have fun! Stay safe! Study a lot!"

Tom dragged Charles back when Charles walked a few steps forwards to hug his parents' goodbye. "If you hug them in public and ruin our image I'm going to personally castrate you, and have fun doing it. Maybe store it in a jar."

Charles hugged Tom, "You didn't say I couldn't hug you!"

"Ge' off you stupid oaf."

"Make lots of new friends! Don't get into trouble! Write to me everyday!"

Charles waved his parents off, and let himself be dragged and pushed into a solid wall. Thankfully it was a magical wall this time.

"Are you nervous?" Charles asked Tom as they stared at the big red train. The platform was full of witches and wizards, smoke and noise.

"No. You?"

"A little."


	30. Chapter 30: Train Ride

Chapter 30: Train Ride

"We are sorted in alphabetical order. You go first, and no matter where you end up I can follow you. Or else Hogwarts will be starting the year sans one hat." Tom said with conviction.

"I want to be Hufflepuff." Charles declared to the other first years that had gathered together around them like a herd of scared sheep. It was still an hour before the train was to depart, and their previously blessedly empty compartment had filled with hopeful and _very _talkative first years. The conversation naturally centred in House affiliations.

"No, you want Slytherin," Tom told him with an irritated scowl.

"Are you implying that you know what I want better than I do?" Charles challenged.

"No. I am telling you what you want, there is a clear difference."

"Oh well, that is that then, since you are_ telling _me what to do I suppose I have no choice but to do it." Charles sounded perfectly sincere, with nothing in his tone or face to betray his sarcasm. His face was the perfect picture of submissive and pliant.

The other first years in the compartment looked at Charles in surprise, and a few with sneers of distaste, not having heard the mockery. Tom, in contrast, felt drowned in sarcasm.

Tom narrowed his eyes in annoyance. "You will." Tom assured Charles darkly. Before Charles could respond, a blonde girl, dressed head to toe in pink, asked Charles, "Why Hufflepuff though? My brother is Hufflepuff and he says it's great but I think Ravenclaw is better."

"I think that's the best house in Hogwarts," Charles responded simply, but instead of looking at the girl, looked at Tom with a smirk playing in the corner of his lips. Tom read the true meaning behind those words. He didn't have to be mind reader, he just knew Charles down to the last scar. Charles might as well said, '_I think that's the best house in Hogwarts because Tom would never be able to get in_' out loud. It would have hurt less.

Tom looked away, and clenched his fists. Charles noticed that his teasing had crossed the line and stopped. Tom clammed up and refused to engage in any conversation after that. Charles sent Tom a concerned look that Tom ignored. Tom would never admit that the comment had hurt him, and Charles would never apologize for something less than a broken bone, so this was as close as they both got. Tom ignored the eyes that were intently looking at his profile until they eyes became too intense to be ignored.

"Fine," Tom snapped, startling everyone but Charles, "do whatever you want but don't come back to me when you fail to make any friends," Tom informed Charles harshly. "It's not as if I am your oldest and best friend. Oh, wait, I am. Abandon me if you want, it's not as if you'd be the first one to do it."

Tom was not above guilt tripping Charles into being in the same house, if forcing and manipulating did not work.

Charles put an arm around Tom's shoulders and dragged Tom's unwilling head closer in a parody of a hug. "We can be in the same house together if…" Charles said softly to Tom's neck.

"If?" Tom questioned with equal softness, knowing that Charles did not want the conversation to travel. The silence that followed convinced Tom that Charles wanted to torture him a bit longer. Charles was probably still mad about this morning. Tom hadn't _meant_ to drop cold water on top of him. The glass had just slipped. And Charles' head was just in the way.

In Tom's defence, today was arguably the most important day of their young lives. Charles shouldn't have been sleeping so peacefully at four in the morning when in just a few hours they would be leaving to _Hogwarts_. One just doesn't sleep the night before entering a _magical school, in a magical castle, where they were going to learn magic_. Who sleeps the night before such an event?

Charles made it abundantly clear that he did not share this sentiment.

Charles turned his head and smiled blindingly at Tom. What Charles always asked from Tom? Space to breathe. For Tom to leave him alone from time to time, to not ask so many questions, or feel the need to control Charles' every move.

Tom sighed, but figured he could pretend to agree and then go back on his word. Charles wouldn't be able to get out of Slytherin once he was in.

"Fine, you win." Tom said with heaviness, as if it pained him to utter the words. Really, why must Charles always be so difficult? He should just do whatever Tom wanted him to do. Was that too much to ask? Tom didn't think so.

"We'll start now then." Charles got up, with what Tom felt was too much enthusiasm, and left the compartment. Tom glared at the closed door. Such a fine friend he is! Abandoning him on their first train ride. Tom wondered again why he still considered Charles a friend. Still. It would be a cold, cold day before Tom let Charles go where he couldn't follow. And that included another house.

The rest of the first years that occupied the compartment looked from the door to Tom in confusion. They had heard most of the conversation, yet they understood nothing of it. Tom agreed that the conversation made no sense, if followed only by the spoken words. That was fine with him, the conversation made sense for those it was intended to make sense.

Well, nothing like the present to start cultivating minions, moles, and build his reputation.

-0-

The hallway was crowded with students entering and exiting compartments, but for Charles it still felt like glorious freedom. He thought he would be stuck sitting in that full to capacity compartment for the entire trip. He shivered in disgust at the thought, and felt slightly bad at leaving Tom behind. But he was sure Tom wouldn't mind spending time with people his age that he could manipulate. Charles, in contrast, wanted nothing from eleven year olds. Not their friendship, nor their respect or satiating their endless curiosity and inane questions. Especially he did not wish to enjoy their conversation skills, or fountain of wit. He wondered again what he was doing here, on his way to Hogwarts, something he was beginning to see more as a prison than an opportunity.

Charles bumped into someone, but unlike the others he had bumped into in the crowded hallway, the boy tripped. Charles hands automatically grabbed the falling body by the waist. The boy was dreadfully thin and lightweight, Penny weighed more than him. Charles looked at him. His first impression was that he looked sick. His face was thin and pale, in sharp contrast to the dark circles under his eyes. He had thin, lacklustre brown hair and tired hazel eyes.

The inspection lasted only a second, and Charles immediately dropped his hands once the boy stood on his own and walked away. Charles looked back halfway down the hallway and the boy was looking back as well. Malcolm. The name came out of nowhere, but he now felt sure it was he. He looked different, to say the least, but that was to be expected after what must have been months under coma and years of regaining motor skills. He was glad the boy survived, with his mind, body and magic intact. But he kind of knew that already. Jim Ross, ex-Head of the Law Department, had helped Charles with the case the hospital had tried to open against him, and had mentioned that his grandson had survived. Charles shook off the encounter and continued on his languid search for Abraxas.

He was not in any hurry to confine himself to a small space again. He took his time observing each and every student that passed him. It has been years, but he hadn't stopped looking for another one like him.

He found Abraxas in a compartment close to the back with another boy. Abraxas noticed him and his eyes lit up like Christmas morning. Charles smiled softly back. Abraxas quickly enveloped Charles in a bone-crushing hug. Charles laughed freely at his enthusiasm, and hugged him back, even if it had only been a week since they last saw each other.

"I thought you might have changed your mind," Abraxas confessed, his pale hair was slightly longer and messy, reaching his grey eyes. Charles saw it for what it was, a small, silent rebellion, and a bid for independence. It was not much, especially besides Charles' chaotic black mess, but in a few years Hyperion was going to start getting grey hairs from his son's increasing efforts to carve his own path. Charles could hardly wait.

"I did, but was overruled." Charles admitted.

"I'm glad." Abraxas said sincerely. Abraxas put both of his hands in Charles' shoulders and Charles put his hands in Abraxas wrists. Abraxas looked over Charles shoulder and exclaimed, "How in the world did you manage to come here alone? I would have thought that Tom would be closely monitoring you to make sure you don't ruin his reputation."

Charles smiled, confortable in the familiarity of the moment, and the sense of shared camaraderie. "As I have told Tom many times, one has to have a reputation for it to be ruined."

"Not here at Hogwarts. The students happily provide you with a reputation if you are lacking, just not a very flattering one." They remembered they weren't alone when someone coughed.

"Abraxas why don't you introduce your friend?" The cold tones of the boy could have frozen ice.

Abraxas looked slightly embarrassed. Charles looked at Abraxas curiously. Abraxas wasn't easily embarrassed. Well, not after that time Tom made Abraxas wear girl clothes while shouting 'I like daisies!' in front of a crowd. His guess was that maybe Abraxas was ashamed of showing too much emotion in front of a peer.

Abraxas introduced the boy as Charis Black, from the Ancient and Noble House of Black. Charis Black had carefully styled, straight, black hair, and large dark eyes with long lashes, set on a pale face. In Charles' opinion, not that anyone asked, he looked both delicate and vicious. But maybe that had more to do with the venomous glare he was sending Charles.

After the short, and brisk, introduction, Abraxas monopolized Charles' attention, not letting him ponder the hostile boy in detail. Not that Charles minded. After working with Goblins, Vampires and Werewolves this was mild. No, this was sunshine and flowers with puked rainbows on the side. No one could out glare a Goblin.

Their easy chatter and banter died when the train started moving. Slowly, but surely, they left the station, and Charles last chance to escape. The door opened and Tom stepped in. Charles was pleasantly surprised it took him this long. Tom must really want Charles to go to Slytherin. One could not quite call Tom patient. Or understanding. Or cheerful.

"There you are Charles," Tom said, and more curtly, "Abraxas."

"Tom," Abraxas greeted with equal coldness. The use of first names indicated a familiarity that the coldness negated. It summed up their relationship quite nicely; they were a familiar thorn on the side for the other.

"And who is this?" Tom asked, looking at the unknown boy and then at Charles expectantly.

"Ehhh… Tom this is…" For the life of him, Charles couldn't remember the name of the boy. It resembled his own…Charlie? No. Charmont?

Charles looked at Abraxas pleadingly, hoping to be saved.

"Tom this is my roommate and friend, Charis Black."

Tom smiled at Black in a way that was more polite disregard than honesty. Still standing by the door Tom took the moment to assess the situation. Tom looked from furious face of Black, to the closeness of Charles and Abraxas and smiled a true smile. Charles knew that smile. It was usually followed by Charles having to dispose of the evidence or apologize to someone.

Tom, ever so tactful, asked, "So you are Abraxas' boyfriend?"

Charles jaw hit the ground, and his eyebrows disappeared on his hair. Both boys turned red and white, as if their faces couldn't quite decide between pale and mortified, or flushed and mad. Abraxas screamed "_No!_" with vehemence. And if that hadn't been confirmation enough, the look of complete and utter betrayal that Black sent Abraxas would have been.

Charles saw the suppressed hurt tears before Black got up and left, slamming the door on his way out.

"I think your not-boyfriend is mad at you." Tom said mildly, a pleasant smile on his lips and relaxed air.

"Haven't you done enough?" Abraxas hissed. "You always do this. Ruin things for everyone like it is some sort of sick game. Are you happy now?"

"Quite." Tom said with a small smile, relaxing on the now vacant sit.

"You should go talk to your friend," Charles suggested to Abraxas before a fight could break out, "Clear the air."

Abraxas looked at Charles as if he wanted to argue, but nodded stiffly and left. The minute Abraxas closed the door, Tom got up and sat next to Charles.

"If you wanted to have an empty compartment you could have just said so," Charles told him mildly.

"Where's the fun in that?"

Charles made a humming sound, and stared at the countryside as the train moved. Tom took a book from his brown leather bag and started reading. Charles checked the cover, it read: _The truth about Ghosts_ by Marilynn Montes. It seemed innocent enough so Charles ignored it and went back to gazing the countryside.

At some point Charles must have fallen asleep because he woke up warm and confortable, with a black robe shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun and his shoulders from the cold. His head was on Tom's shoulder. Tom held his arm and was entertaining himself by writing with a quill on the inside of Charles' wrist. The uncomfortable scratches to the sensible skin were the reason Charles had woken. Charles looked at the damage done with sleepy eyes. He now sported the word 'TOM' on the inside of his wrist.

"That is not permanent ink is it?" Charles asked, mildly panicked.

"No." Tom responded, and Charles let out a relieved breath. "It's semi-permanent. Annabelle took all of my permanent ink after the incident with Abigael." Abigael had an 'evil bint' tattoo for a whole year before it had faded enough for it to be removed, courtesy of Tom. Abigael still hasn't forgiven Tom.

Charles glared at Tom. He will have to take a special potion to remove it. A horrible tasting potion he was not sure he had brought with him.

"Mark your own damn skin," Charles snapped, and pulled his arm back. Charles was secretly glad he had not woken up with a painted moustache, or something equally embarrassing. He looked at his reflexion on the glass, no, no painted moustache. With that worry out of his mind he made himself confortable again, making sure to make Tom as uncomfortable as humanly possible in the process, and went back to sleep. Or tried at least.

"I'm going to the loo." Charles untangled himself from Tom, and the robe Tom had put around his shoulders while he slept. He carefully folded Tom's robe, putting it besides the boy.

"Remember what we talked about," Tom said abruptly. "When we get to Hogwarts we can not afford all of this childish nonsense." By 'childish nonsense' Tom meant no more casually falling asleep on top of the other.

Last month Tom had announced that their childhood was over. They were now eleven, almost twelve, and going to Hogwarts where they couldn't afford to be seen as weak or childish. That meant that all of their 'childish behaviour' was to stop. No more sleeping on the same bed or sharing a bath like babies, no more hugs or handholding or any other non-manly behaviour that could be interpreted as weak.

Apparently Frank, and undoubtedly society, had made an impression. At least on the subject of how a _man_ was to act. Charles thought Tom was being a tad dramatic, but that was Tom. And Charles was not about to oppose something that he also wanted.

Charles only nodded.

Satisfied, Tom went back to the book he was reading. According to the sun it was just noon. Charles regretted succumbing to Tom's demand that they be on the train hours before it was schedule to depart. Pleasing Tom was not worth a whole day inside a stuffy overfull train.

Still sleepy and warm from his nap, Charles stumbled out of the silent compartment and to the noisy, over crowded hall. The line for the loo was kilometric. It was still early in the trip and the loo already reeked of pee. Charles would not dare enter it at the end of the day. On his way out of the loo, after testing that yes, the ink would not come off with water, someone grabbed him by the shoulders.

"There you are! I'd been looking all over for you." A girl told him with obnoxious cheerfulness. Well, obnoxious for Charles that had just woken up from a nap, but by the considering looks the other boys were throwing her, not everyone agreed with Charles. In fact, he was a small minority. Extinct really.

She was also a first year, obvious by her lack of House colour. Charles was about to open his mouth to tell her she had confused him with someone else when he noticed something. He could not quite describe what, but it was there, nagging him. Like an hyperactive mosquito in close quarters.

Full of curiosity, and _hope_, Charles let the girl push him to an unused compartment. She closed the door, and the wards she placed on the compartment made Charles raise his eyebrows. And feel deliriously, hopelessly, insanely _happy_. Finally! He was not alone anymore in this crazy existence. He now had someone who could understand him completely, and share his burden. He had not realized how truly scared, and overwhelmed, he had felt with his chosen path until the weight halved.

When the wards settled around the compartment, she turned to him.

"Hi!" she said in her bubbly, cheerful voice. And Charles smiled right back, not caring if he looked as if someone had scooped his brain and replaced it with treacle tart. "Hi!" he repeated, stupid smile and all.

"Where have you been?" Charles asked.

"Here, silly! Waiting for you." That told Charles absolutely nothing, but he was too happy to care. She had been waiting for him! That had to count for something.

"I'm Charles Winter," he offered her his hand, almost wanting to pull her into a crushing hug but not yet daring.

"I know," she sing-sang, "I'm Olive Hornby by the way." Olive Hornby was a really pretty girl with shinny, long, chestnut hair, light brown eyes, tall, taller than Charles, and willowy. She could have had horns for all Charles cared and still be perfect. Because she was here! With him. And he was not alone anymore.

She handed him a small square parchment. And Charles frowned in worry. It had his name and his address…all four of them. His parent's now burned house in Germany, in London's Wool Orphanage, the cottage and his manor. It also had the name of two other boys and their address.

"How…how could you possibly have tracked me?" Charles asked.

"It was easy, once I knew what to look for." She responded reasonably, she had some shinny gloss in her lips.

Charles stared at the slip of small square parchment with a heavy frown.

"How is it possible?" _It just made no sense._

Charles didn't see it coming when she slammed him to a wall and held him by the neck. "Whom are you working for?" she asked ruthlessly, when Charles only looked at her in surprise, she yelled, "Tell me!"

"I'm not working for anyone," he answered confusedly. A frown breaking in his forehead, and the happiness that previously consumed him, sinking like heavy sludge in his belly.

"_Liar!_" she shouted_, _ "You took my daughter didn't you? _Didn't you?_"

"You are only eleven, it's impossible for you to have a daughter," Charles blurted, and then thought, '_Unless she had her period at nine, conceived the same year and gave birth to a child nine months after. Then it might be possible for someone to steal her baby before this moment. But… her body bares no sign of having carried a child. Still it was possible._' He wanted to believe she was telling the truth, he really did.

"You took my child! I know you did! Tell me where he is." _'He? She said 'daughter' before, not son.' _One more rock fell to the ground from the mountain of realization he was trying to ignore.

Her hold slacked, and she stepped back, smile back in her face. "Hi! I'm Olive Hornby. Who might you be?"

"I'm Charles Winter," Charles repeated, his mind racing, his heart beating erratically.

"I like your name, what house do you want to be in? I prefer Ravenclaw." Her face changed, and she looked thoughtful and serious. "No. No, your name is not Charles." She looked at Charles carefully, as if he was some sort of puzzle. "Dartamian," She smiled in victory, "yes that's it! Your name is Dartamian Marcus Liander. I remember you."

"I don't remember you," he was glad for the proof that she was also like him, but he was cautious now. Less hopeful. And confused as hell.

"Of course you don't. You never had reason to see me. I was no one, a nobody. Not in comparison to the Great Dartamian." her smile was bitter, and he wondered about her words, and about her bitterness. He was not a stranger to the resentment that accomplishments generated or how his standoffish attitude fed it.

Her moment of lucidity lasted just that, a moment. Better than any professional actor, her face went from curious to murderous. Her features turning and twisting into something ugly and savage that had no place in the innocent face of an eleven year old.

"I will stop you, you will not enslave my people!" she said in perfect Russian. "I swear on my life that you will not win." She started weaving a web of magic, not saying any words, or using her wand. This was old magic, old and deadly. The kind you don't mess with unless you have a _really_ good reason.

"Stop it! You are going to kill us, and everyone on this train."

Charles started desperately countering, containing it, and dissipating it. But she kept on it. For every attempt to subdue her, she had two others to kill him. And gaining the advantage on him. She had no fear of killing Charles, destroying the train, everyone and everything in it while Charles preferred not to kill her, himself, or everyone else if he could help it.

It took a few minutes for Charles to pass desperate and enter panicking. Fear was chocking him. He didn't want to harm her before he knew if she was under a spell or curse. But he was _very_ aware of the fact that they were on a train full of children. The wards kept the others from noticing the screams, the bangs, and the wild magic, but they will not contain an explosion. Or the effects of the magic she was wilding so carelessly. As if they were a toy and could not possibly cause a rupture in the space-time continuum. Or create a black hole that would suck the entire universe in a matter of minutes.

Hornby attacked randomly and savagely. Charles could not anticipate her moves and her magic kept him at arms reach, and busy trying to do damage control. She started yelling in Chinese. Since her ferocity did not diminish, even if her language changed, Charles supposed she was blaming him for another event, which he might or might not have been responsible for in another life. In all possibility he might have been responsible, he doesn't not keep a tab of all his past/future misdeeds. Too long for one.

Charles saw a chance when she was distracted creating a ball of pure magic between her hands, the sort of thing one does when destroying a planet, not an eleven year old. Charles kicked her on the stomach. She doubled over, unable to breath, talk or move from the pain. Charles slammed her against a wall, chocking her with his hands to keep her from being able to concentrate on a magical defence.

She kicked, but Charles used his stronger body to keep her pinned to the wall. He looked at her wild, desperate eyes, and in her mind. What he found made him swallow hard. Her mind was completely destroyed. It was no curse or spell; it was the memories that broke her mind. Too many and too much for any mind to hold.

"Stupid girl," Charles told her in frustration and anger, "you were supposed to supress them."

Olive Hornby was insane and dangerous. She could not differentiate between one life or another, between friend or foe. She was no use to him and a danger to society. In his momentary distraction she used a magical blast that sent him flying to the wall with a sharp 'crack' were his head hit the window and cracked the glass.

"_No!"_ Charles shouted in terror, eyes going wide. He tried to reach her before she finished the incantation, tried to move, to do something, but he was too late. One moment everything was still and quiet, and then he was blinded by white. His screamed was drowned in the blast. Charles was flying. The window had broken in the blast and sent him flying outwards in a long fall. He slowed his fall, and miraculously, landed alive.

Charles saw with sick horror as the train derailed, and crashed against the side of the mountain. The half closest to the collision exploded in flames, the second half broke off and fell off the bridge. _No. No. No. No. This isn't happening. This isn't happening._ The words repeated themselves over and over as he saw the magical flames consume everything. Tom. Abraxas. He felled to his knees and grabbed his head with both hands. _This isn't happening. This isn't happening. This is not real. _A shocked sob destroyed his mantra. _What have I done? _He looked at his hands as if they were to blame. And stopped in dizzying realization. His left wrist was unmarked. The black inked 'TOM' was nowhere to be seen. He suddenly felt a dark rage like he had never experienced before. _Get off my mind!_ He roared.

He blinked and was again inside the train, never having left in the first place. She had used his mind invasion and turned it around. It had been so smoothly, followed so nicely to the events, that he had not noticed it. She had never broken his hold; his hands were still choking her. Her eyes rolling back from lack of oxygen.

He suddenly didn't care about hurting her, because he felt like killing her. And it still wouldn't be enough. He wanted to torture her, dismantle her, erase her existence from the world and it still wouldn't be enough. He wanted to make her suffer what he had suffered in that minute.

Uninvited, a memory came to him, so forcibly that for a moment it felt as real as the train crashing. They were on the woods near the manor, he, his father and Tom, his father was teaching them to hunt. '_Remember boys,' Frank had told them, 'things won't always go according to plan. Don't get mad. Don't get frustrated. Accept and adapt_.'

Accept and Adapt. Charles breath deeply, still choking her, because he couldn't seem to stop, and let the anger flush out of his system. And felt everything leave him.

Suddenly empty, he knew what to do.

He raised his wand and uttered a single word, "Obliviate."

And just like that he was alone once more. It seemed almost cruel how easy it was. She sagged in his arms, either from lack of oxygen or from the spell. Charles let her fall to the floor. Her head fell with a thumb to the floor, blood flowing was it hit quickly creating a large red puddle.

He supressed the vicious wish to kick her. But he wanted to. Oh, how much he wanted to. But if he started he wouldn't be able to stop. He sat on the destroyed bench and put his head between his hands. He curled his body, his knees touching his forehead and wrapped his arms tightly around his legs.

He wanted to vomit. For a moment he had truly believed the train had exploded. It had felt real. Too real. He looked at the inside of his wrist. He had been lucky she hadn't noticed that detail or hadn't deemed it important enough to recreate it. Or else he would have been lost in the illusion, believing it was real. She had been a Mind Mistress in some other life, an expert in mind arts, and the knowledge had come to her rescue when she was dying.

Charles stopped thinking about it. It was not real. It never happened. In automatic, he fixed the compartment to its formal state. He levitated the unconscious girl to the bench, not trusting himself to touch her, healed the purple bruises in her neck and the worse of the head injury. He dismantled the wards and left.

Outside everything was normal. Loud, crowded, noisy and cheerful. His legs trembled. His hands also shook. Charles was fairly sure his whole body was trembling. In some part of his brain that still thought, that wouldn't shut up, he was wondering if he was having a panic attack or entering in shock.

Charles did what he always did when he was on the edge of breakdown. He sought Tom. If he could find Tom he would be safe. That was all he knew at the moment. That thought was his world, his universe. It consumed him. Find Tom. Be safe. Be saved.

He walked blindly. His magic unconsciously seeking Tom's and his feet following the path. His eyes filled with tears. He was so stupid! To think… to hope…He breath deeply and pushed the thoughts back, to a hidden corner. He couldn't deal with it now. So soon after.

"Hey kid! _Kid!_ Are you alright?"

_What a stupid question_, thought Charles, _of course he was not alright_. Charles did not answer or stop or look. And the boy did not pursue him.

Charles knew he had arrived at the right door. Everyone turned to look at Charles when he opened the door. He didn't care. He only saw Tom.

Tom frowned, something was wrong. Charles looked…naked. Vulnerable. It was plain for everyone to see. Even the first years saw it, and looked uncomfortable, as if they wanted to reach out to Charles but did not know how.

Charles looked as if his worse fear had just come true, Tom thought, he was standing in the open door as if his world had just crashed and burned. He looked utterly defeated. And scared. Charles kept looking at him. Not demanding. But asking. Pleading. Tom knew he could deny Charles. He had all the right to, after all Charles had walked away from him, saying he was going to the loo, and left him alone for hours. Maybe not _hours_, but long enough for Tom to get bored and seek company elsewhere.

If Charles wanted space, Tom could give him space. So much space that the castle will be too small for them. That might teach Charles to watch his words better. It would be an excellent revenge. Tom's eyes hardened, and Charles did not cross the entrance. Charles' eyes shone as if he knew what Tom was thinking. Charles nodded and took a step back, ready to turn and leave but his eyes sought Tom one more time, he looked dead and Tom felt his heart miss a beat.

Tom relented slightly by placing his hand palm up in silent invitation. His pride wouldn't let him do more after being rejected and ignored. Thankfully, Charles did not do something overly embarrassing in front of their future peers. He only sat besides Tom on the window sit and held Tom's hand in a way that was hidden from the overly curious eyes. Still looking dead, but clutching Tom's hand with enough force to break it.

"Did an older student say something mean?" a girl with unfortunate glasses and pigtails asked. Myrtle, or some other unfortunate name, if Tom remembered correctly.

Both Tom and Charles ignored her. Charles was crushing his hand, and looking out the window. The other eleven year olds were inspecting Charles in a way that Tom could only imagine birds of prey doing with fat, juicy rats. Tom glared at the other students until they felt uncomfortable enough to babble to fill the tense silence. Still they sent covert looks at Charles, some seemed mad at Charles' blatant disregard, others curious, and some…with disturbing insistency.

Charles stared out the window, the rise and fall of his chest, and the occasional blink were the only indicatives he was not a statue. And looking at the inside of his wrist, where Tom had written his name. He looked at it every few minutes, as if ensuring it was still there. Over and over, until Tom grabbed his other hand and held it. Charles fought it. Tom rolled his eyes and let the patch of inked skin visible. Charles calmed instantly and kept his eyes glued to the letters that marred his skin.

Tom felt really concerned. Ice travelled his spine. This was not normal. This was not right. Something happened. Something Big. He wondered what could have happened to Charles in the time they had been separated, but knew he'll have to wait until they were alone to ask. Nothing that got Charles this upset was to be talked in front of this bunch.

Tom lightly squeezed Charles' hand, and intertwined their fingers. His concern winning over his previous anger. Charles' hands trembled and were uncomfortably sweaty. Somewhere in the back of his mind Tom felt the rush of magic that followed the action but he was so used to it by now that he barely noticed anymore. After a while Charles' hands went unresponsive and limp in Tom's hands but Tom kept squeezing until he felt a responding squeeze. Tom could measure how far gone Charles was by the amount of time it took Charles to respond to a stimulus. It had taken Charles half an hour to respond, meaning he was so far gone in his mind that not even the threat of death could bring him back.

Tom kept Charles' hand as they climbed out of the train, and walked towards the boats. Charles followed silently, holding Tom's hand more tightly if Tom made a move to drop it. It reminded Tom of another time, another place, where letting go would have meant losing Charles forever. It made it slightly easier to bear the looks of other students at their tightly held hands.

"Please, someone, anyone. Help!" The shout made Tom look back. It was dark but he could still make out the desperate face of the older girl who shouted.

"Professor! Please help!" Someone screamed, and a crowd formed around the noise. "A first year girl has been hurt…" Tom did not hear what else was said because he was pushed forward to the boats.


	31. Chapter 31: Hero

Chapter 31: Hero

_Hero box: self-sacrificing, honour bound, fair and noble. Add shy, compassionate and talks to animals and you have the full set. (On Sale. 75% Discount)_

People talked but he couldn't understand their words, couldn't concentrate on their faces. It was easier to ignore them. Ignore the noise. He walked in a fog. His thoughts felt clouded and muddy. A word broke momentarily his fog, Riddle. But it only brought more confusion so Charles ignored it.

Charles walked forward when he heard his name. Sat. Looked at the inside of his wrist. It still had the same three letters that meant this was real. That Tom, Abraxas and everyone else were not dead. The train had not crashed. His only assurance that that had been fantasy and this was reality. He did not hear what the hat said, if it said anything, and walked again towards the general direction of the noise. Sat again. Looked at the inside of his wrist. Spooned food into his mouth at appropriate intervals. Looked at the inside of his wrist. And stood again when everyone else did. He felt blackness closing in on him, and for the first time in his life, welcomed it.

A moment later he felt as if he had been struck by lightning. "You are not fainting on me!" Tom whispered harshly. "I'm not going to be known as the brother of the boy who fainted, and you are not going to be the Boy-Who-Fainted. Now, suck it up, stop acting like an inferi and for Gods sake! _Walk_."

Just like that, Charles resurfaced from the sea of numbness he had been drowning in. His mind cleared, and everything fell into sharp focus. He felt as if he could breath again. Charles clutched his chest, his heart beating too fast from the sudden rush of adrenaline and magic. Tom and his rough love. Effective, but brutal.

"Save the world some pain and never become a Healer," Charles said when he felt he could talk again. Tom smirked, turned around and kept walking towards the dungeons. Most of the group had already turned around the corner and gone from view. Charles matched his step a moment after.

"Glad to have you back." Tom said, and lightly touched the back of Charles' neck.

"Fuck! What was that for?" Charles' hair was standing up and his skin sparkled and spiked with magic. Charles was rubbing the ugly burn on his neck and glaring at Tom.

"For holding my hand in public. Do you know how hard it's going to be to recover from that?"

Charles smirked and snickered, feeling better, almost. Charles ignored the fact that he was rubbing his wrist. They arrived at a suspiciously empty wall.

"Really?" Tom asked disgusted.

"Really. It's_ that_ obvious."

"Maybe in the original structure it was better concealed." Tom defended weakly. Charles let his silence speak for itself. Tom smacked him without looking, for the insult Charles did not said, but obviously thought.

"Let's go in. You are getting too kinky for my taste." Charles evaded the Tom's smack by stepping forward. Charles studied the wall and touched the perfectly even and flat rocks.

"Overwrite it with a magical shock?" Tom suggested. Ever eager to destroy his way in.

"No. We'd have to overwrite the entire castle.

Tom nodded, "It would bring the old girl down."

They shared a look. Charles shrugged, unconcerned. "Maybe some other time, when we are bored," Charles said.

Tom tapped the rocks, pressed his ear to the wall, and smiled.

"Look Charles," Tom whispered theatrically, "_magic_." Tom tapped with his wand a sequence of rocks that formed an 'H' on the wall. The wall opened after a few seconds.

"The founders made sure they could open any dorm in case of emergency. Smart. How did you notice it?"

"A magician never tells his secrets."

Charles groaned. "I should have never taken you to see that muggle magician," he lamented.

"No. You shouldn't have. Wasted three hours of my life."

"And now I'm paying the price," Charles muttered as they walked in.

They entered an open antechamber with a low ceiling that led to a staircase. Walking down the stairs they arrived to what appeared the center of a beehive. The room was large and heptagonal shaped, with a two-floor ceiling and five doors. A big spider crystal chandelier lamp hanged from the centre of the room.

The room had five walls of smooth grey rock, each one with a door that presumably led to the rooms. The wall to the right of the staircase was covered with rugs and a large fireplace. In front of the fireplace were couches and chairs made from black leather and dark wood. Everything had green detailing and adorned with either skulls or snakes. The wall left of the stairs was clear, leaving the murky, green waters of the lake visible. The final wall had the stairs that led up to the main level and out the fake wall. The floor was completely covered with mismatched rugs to preserve the heat.

Every eye turned to look at the latecomers as they walked down the stairs. Tom smiled charmingly, and Charles took a step back. Tom was a natural attention hog, he liked the attention, craved the attention, and Charles had a bad history with attention. In his experience attention has never brought him any good. He was more confortable in the shadows.

"You two! Get in line." An older boy barked. The thirty new first years were all arranged in a single long line. And scared witless at being put on the spot in front of a crowd of two hundred evil looking seniors.

"Welcome to Slytherin young snakes." The boy said to the new students. "Let's see what you are made off. Offer your hand to Rosier and he will judge your worth." He sneered, "This is not optional."

Rosier, a third year boy with dirty blond hair and brilliant green eyes, started the inspection from the farthest corner from Tom and Charles.

"Sensitive to magic," Tom whispered.

"Obvious." Charles whispered back. "The question is how sensitive. More or less than you?" More might be a problem for Charles. Even as sensitive as Tom might be problematic. Too sensitive and he'll be overwhelmed by Charles.

"I guess we'll find out."

Rosier made a few of the first years walk a step forward, some step back, and a few were asked to step away from the line all together. Charles watched the faces of all the older children with interest.

"At least five more sensitive," he told Tom.

"In this crowd? There has to be at least ten." Tom whispered. Being sensitive to magic was not that uncommon.

"Wanna bet?" Charles challenged.

Tom let a small burst of magic out; fairly common for eleven year olds that haven't started using a wand regularly. Five pairs of eyes zoomed in on them, not including Abraxas.

"I liked you better when you were going in shock," Tom informed him.

"I could kiss you," Charles threatened.

"You wouldn't dare," Tom glared at Charles darkly.

"Right here. In front of everyone. Wonder what they'll say."

"Try it and I'll kill you."

"I'll make sure to use tongue then." At Tom's look, Charles clarified, "I have to make it worth dying for."

"Alright. I take it back. I don't like you better when you are going into shock." Tom then muttered, "But you _are_ quieter."

They stopped talking when Rosier stepped in front of Tom. Without asking, Rosier took Tom's hand in his. And immediately dropped it with a horrified cry.

"How rude. You shouldn't touch a person without their permission." Tom murmured, his dark eyes glittering with amusement. Rosier backed away from Tom with fear, his hand sporting second-degree burns. In the confusion of everyone openly staring at Tom, Charles swapped places with Tom, making Tom the last in line.

A few people noticed, but Tom was the interesting one, the darkly charming and powerful boy. Charles had wild hair, unfashionable glasses and had behaved like a weak, scared inferi at dinner. They figured it was probably a lack of power what motivated him not to be publicly considered.

Charles winked at the amused looking Abraxas who was shaking his head at the ploy. Obvious as it was, it created the exact perception that Charles wanted and will make it easier for him to hide in the shadows.

-0-

They were shepherded to one of the five doors. The door opened to a hallway with seven more doors, three at each side and one at the end. It was used to room the boys from first and second year. First year to one side and second year to the other. The door at the end led to a communal loo. Each room could hold up to a maximum of five boys, fifteen being the mean of boys sorted to each house, each year.

The mean, but not the exact number. This year sixteen boys were sorted to Slytherin, making one room crammed with six beds. Charles and Tom were unlucky enough to be given the crammed room.

"Tom, go exercise your wicked ways and get us another room." At Tom's raised eyebrow, Charles gave a defensive, "What? Am I not allowed to use your evil powers of persuasion for my own benefit? How selfish of you."

Tom shook his head, "Why did I ever thought you could be placed in any other house?" Tom asked rhetorically but obediently went to persuade the boys in the other room to give them their beds.

"I'm touched by your confidence." Tom said when he saw Charles waiting in the hall with their two trunks.

"I have never doubted your abilities, Tom. By the way," Charles took a roll of parchment out of his pocket and opened it, "By forces outside my control I am to forced to remind you… yes, here it is. Number 5: One shall not Bully."

"I see. She gave you one also," Tom commented and opened his own roll, "The Mother of all Evil wants to remind you…Number 2: One shall not send others to do one's own bullying."

"I don't have that one," Charles remarked with a frown. "Let me see that." Charles took Tom's own parchment to study it and scowled when he read it. "Sneaky, mama. Very sneaky. She gave us different instructions to force on the other."

"Come on," Tom said, taking his roll from Charles, "we are bunking in the first room."

"Good, farthest from the loo. I'm not crazy with thirty boys sharing one bathroom."

The room had enough space for five four-poster beds and a wardrobe and night table for each bed. The room was simple with no windows. The walls and floors were plain grey rock and the room had no decoration. The only colour in the room came from the green in the beds.

As they start getting ready for bed Charles felt the panic he had supressed come back. The adrenaline and the magic Tom had forced into his system only serving as a temporary patch. Charles felt the panic rise to cloying levels when Tom moved away and to another bed. Charles looked at his wrist and tried to calm himself by tracing the letters with his fingers. He pressed and pressed until he broke the skin with his nail. Blood and pain. Instantly, he felt better. If the train had crashed, and he was still in a dish, lost in his mind because he couldn't accept _that_ as reality, then he wouldn't be able to feel pain, right?

Wrong, his mind responded instantly. The brain creates the pain, not the body. Charles wished his mind would shut up from time to time and not insert unnecessary, unhelpful information.

Charles left his pride in a bag besides his bed and hoped it died of asphyxiation. He needed Tom. He was scared at the possibility of being alone.

"Can we be childish?" Charles asked Tom uncertainly when Tom turned to face him, "Just for tonight, can we pretend to still be children?"

Tom considered it. On one hand, Charles seldom sought him. On the other, he had a reputation to build, and sleeping together like children will not create the image he wanted to build around himself. That was the logical argument, but Tom felt as if he would rather die, well not die, but something equally dramatic, than turn Charles away when Charles needed it the most. When he had _that_ face. The 'oh, pretty please' face. Charles had been there for him at his worst. Tom supposed that he had to do the same.

Charles took the prolong silence as rejection, nodded in understanding and turned towards his bed. Charles climbed to his bed and closed the curtains around him. After a long moment Tom reluctantly went after Charles.

Charles was in a small corner of the four-poster bed, wrapped in a tight ball on top of the covers.

"Only for tonight." Tom whispered.

Tom hated seeing Charles like this. Small, helpless and lost.

For a moment it felt like they were six again, staring at the dripping ceiling of the orphanage from a thin cot on the floor and wondering if they'll have food tomorrow. Tom hated any reminder from that time. They weren't small or helpless anymore, and nothing should make Charles have that face.

Carefully, Tom took Charles hands, which were curled in a tight fist, leaving nail marks on his palms, and stretched them. He did the same with Charles' cramped arms and legs. And again, and again, he repeated the motion because the moment Tom stopped holding his limbs Charles would curl over himself. Eventually, Tom settled with leaving Charles curl over his own body and holding him tightly.

Tom woke up in the middle of the night to Charles' gut wrenching sobs.

Charles cried with sadness, and joy, a slight hysteria and panic coming in on top. Tom drew him into a protective, possessive embrace and Charles let out another guttural cry and let himself be cradled. Tom murmured quiet shhh shhhh's. The area around them already had silencing charms. No one deserved to see this side of Charles. This was Tom's, and he would be damned to a thousand hells if would share.

Charles seldom cried, but when he did, it was without restrictions. Without control or limit. He gave himself to the pain like he gave himself to everything else, completely and passionately. Tom held him and waited for it to pass. Like any thunderstorm, no matter how bad it was, it always passed.

They had weathered worse.

A friend was one that watched in wonder as the other burned brightly. And was there to gather the ashes afterwards, put them back together and spit on the cracks to fix them.

-0-

Charles woke up slowly, and for a few blessed minutes, didn't remember anything, or thought about anything. His mind, his body, everything, was on hiatus. Asleep. Numb. Quiet. The hair that was making his nose twitch was a familiar nuisance. But the sheets were not as soft as we as used to, nor did they smell the same. Tom smelled the same though, like Tom.

He slowly opened his eyes to see familiar white flesh with well-known markings. White lines that covered pale skin, some bulging, some faint, some unnoticeable but all of them with a violent history attached. With one finger Charles followed the well-known paths of the lines. Softly tracing the scars with the pads of his fingers, almost not touching the skin, seeing the skin with sleepy, tired eyes. The skin under his fingers twitched. Even that was familiar.

Then he remembered. And looked at his wrist to verify this was real. He traced the black inked lines. He spent long minutes just looking at it. Not thinking much. Sleep still clouded his mind.

_Just in case…_

"You bit me!" Tom accused him, his voice full of affronted irritation and sleep. Tom's shoulder now sported a shinny bite mark that perfectly matched Charles' teeth.

"I wanted to make sure you were real," Charles responded with wide innocent eyes. It would have worked better had Charles' eyes not been red and puffy from crying.

Tom mumbled a string of words that sounded suspiciously like, "Bite your arse next time you want to assure yourself." The blankets that Tom dragged over his head muffled his words. Charles smiled, feeling almost normal, and bit Tom's hip over the sheets. His behind was too far and too gross to consider.

"Your arse, you berk, not mine." Tom rolled away, creating a burrito like effect with the blankets. "Stop biting me. You act more like a dog than a boy." Tom was wide-awake now, his peaceful slumber ruined, and his curiosity bursting from being denied.

"What happened to you yesterday?" Tom asked.

Charles smile melted and his eyes shadowed. "I met someone," he said slowly, carefully, "Someone like me."

"And?" Tom prodded. He looked ridiculous inside his burrito with messy dark hair sticking out. Charles did not comment, he had a feeling he looked much the same, if not worse because of the swollen eyes and face.

"And she had gone insane. Her mind broke under the pressure."

"Did she hurt you?" Tom asked quietly.

"She tried. I almost lost my mind."

Tom heard the underlying worry and responded to that. "I won't happen to you," Tom assured him.

"How can you be sure?" Charles questioned anxiously.

"Because I will not let it happen."

"And if it does happen?" Charles asked, full of insecurity and worry.

"Then I'll drag you back to me. Kicking and screaming if I have to," Tom responded. Charles smiled, because even of he doubted reality, he didn't doubt that statement for a moment. It was so Tom. Tom _would _drag him back from the brink of insanity. Kicking, screaming, bleeding and with head injuries if Charles refused.

"My hero." Charles' tone was light and teasing, but his eyes were not.

"The phrase 'You owe me one' comes to mind, yet it seems so inadequate," Tom drawled.

Charles hit him with a pillow. "You were being so good. I was almost impressed, then you had to go and ruin it by being you."

Sounds alerted them that their roommates were out and about. Charles rolled away, and sat at the edge of the bed. He was unwilling to give up the warmth of the bed for the coldness of the day, in more ways than one, but it was getting late. They had class.

The moment they opened the curtains their roommates wasted no time in including them in the conversation. Ugh! They had bluebirds and sunshine roommates. Charles and Tom simultaneously glared, grunted and continued dressing. They were not morning people.

Charles dragged his towel and toiletries from his trunk and bravely went to face the bathroom.

It was worse than he imagined. It was a nightmare. Charles rubbed his temples. It was too early to deal with this.

Boys were screaming, talking, singing and running around naked. Water splashed everywhere, making puddles and small lakes. Bottles, towels and pants littered the floor. Basically boys behaving like boys.

It was traumatic.

Seven years of communal bathroom. He could hardly wait. The only high point was seeing Tom's horror filled face at the mess, the depravity… the _happiness_.

"What kind of… stupid… idiotic… _monkeys_ are they?" Tom asked. He looked ready to cry.

"The normal kind?" Charles ventured as an informed guess.

They had been hesitant to show their scars, but there was little choice, it was a row of showers. It helped that they weren't the only ones with a violent history written on their bodies. You could count the ribs of at least ten boys. Some had worse scars than Charles. Some had burns. Some had unfortunate birth defects. And some had nothing at all. The fortunate ones from good families were pink, chubby and with soft unmarked skin.

The pink and overweight tended to form groups separate from the undernourished and scarred. Not exclusively, but there was a clear division. Charles and Tom kept to themselves and finished quickly. Getting out of the dungeons with their hair still wet and their clothes crooked from the hurry. Neither commented on it, but they couldn't help but be reminded of the orphanage. They had lived apart for so long now, in a cottage by themselves or a manor with the family, that even a subtle reminder of that time rattled them.

They were early for breakfast. The Slytherin table only had a few seniors that glared at Charles' messy appearance before going back to their plate. Charles did not understand how, but Tom had arrived impeccably dressed and styled. He suspected foul play.

The spread was decent, if one took into account the political and economical setting. But still…

Charles looked at Tom's face. It was carefully neutral. Compared to what they were used to, this was not much.

"We've been spoiled," Charles commented lightly. Charles could admit that in the last few years they had lived the life of excess.

Decadent food. Exclusive, specialized, high quality purveyors provided their foodstuffs. A staff that consisted of chefs, maids and butlers. A manor with sunrooms, patios, indoor gardens, aviary, private rooms, private bathrooms…

A lifestyle that included the theatre, opera, entertaining, feasting, dancing and travelling. Rubbing elbows with nobility, politicians, and wealthy entrepreneurial landholders. Private lessons, private tutors…

It was worrying how easy one could get used to that lifestyle. Had they come from the orphanage to Hogwarts their impression would have been drastically different. But they had not.

Their family was part of the wealthiest five percent of the populace. Even Penny had her money invested on imported goods. Charles was in charge of managing the business for her until she was fifteen but the money was hers.

Charles had not hidden the gold in a cave to gather dust. He had invested. A lot. And kept track of each and every single quid. He had a lot of people who worked for him. And Charles delegated most of the work to a trusted team that took care the daily aspects. Except the finances. Charles kept tight control over the money. More than a few people had been dismissed over the years for trying to rob them blind.

Tom continued slaughtering a helpless roll.

"They have no coffee. The tea is too weak. The eggs are not fully done. And not one bloody fruit." Tom said with tightly controlled anger. Tom did not even like fruits all that much. Or coffee. It was more of the principle of the thing.

"Try the oatmeal."

"Too sweet," Tom growled.

"The muffin?"

"It's strawberry, Charles, _strawberry._" Right. Not manly enough.

Abraxas entered not much later and sat in front of them. Earning curious glances from the other Slytherins. Abraxas and Tom talked like nothing happened yesterday, both bonding over the common enemy of school food as if they had never wanted to tear each other's eyes out. Abraxas told them not to expect much from lunch or dinner.

Midway thru breakfast Charles discovered that mail was going to be a problem. Twenty owls flew to him, getting on plates, inside bowls of food, spilling jars of orange juice, leaving feathers everywhere. And more kept coming. And coming.

Then to make it worse, they started fighting, getting not only feathers but also blood on the food.

"Rabbit you leave that owl right this instant. Right this instant mister. No!" Charles groaned, "Don't poke its eyes out." Vicious thing.

Charles had not thought of this. They had an owlery in the manor, and a maid who was in charge of taking care of the owls, taking the letters from the owls and delivering them to the breakfast table. It had been so commonplace that he hadn't even thought about it. His mail was just delivered to him every morning.

"This is so unhygienic!" Tom exploded. "Having owls at the breakfast table. I have owl droppings on my tea!"

Charles privately agreed. With the help of Tom and Abraxas, Charles was able to get all of his mail and send the owls away. Charles' face was flaming. The entire hall was watching the drama and laughing. Even the professors were interested in his amount of mail. He had to do something about this. This couldn't happen every morning, and he usually received mail at all hours of the day.

Tom commented to the curious that they had a big extended family and many friends that wished to congratulate them on their first day of school.

"Why some of them have the Goblin Nation crest?" an older Slytherin girl asked with narrowed eyes.

"My uncle has a strange sense of humour and a love for the unusual." If they asked their parents, which they will, their parents will confirm that Charles Winter, the thirty to forty something man, was a passionate historian with unusual tastes. A quirk to send letters to his nephew with the Goblin Nation crest will be seen as something he would probably do. Charles had made sure that his fictional uncle could get away with a lot.

"He likes to embarrass us," Charles added.

This was easily accepted because kids could understand a family member trying to embarrass them. Charles went back to being uninteresting when the rumour that it was only family and friends trying to embarrass him circled the castle. They still had great fun mocking him, but Charles easily endured it with a good-natured smile and the students eventually moved on.

Charles used his first two classes to read his mail. He only paid attention to the introductions. And made sure to sit at the back of the class and behind someone burly. Tom on the other hand, sat at the front of the classroom, paid attention to class and took meticulous notes. When his mail was done, Charles read the newspapers to keep up to date in current affairs.

At lunch Charles asked, "Tom why are they calling you Riddle?" It had bothered Charles that everyone referred to Tom as Riddle but hadn't been able to talk about during class.

"Apparently blood family trumps adopted family." Tom's face was carefully controlled in a placid neutral.

"Are you mad?"

"Yes," Tom answered.

Charles nodded and did not press it. They'll talk about when Tom feels up to talk about it.

-0-

That night Charles sat on his bed with a quill tightly gripped in his hand. He started at the cream parchment in his hands for a long time. Black ink dripped from the quill. And still he did nothing but stare. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply and let the quill touch the parchment, creating a black dot.

Half and hour later a black dot was the only mark in the parchment.

He has done many things in the past. Difficult, impossible, painful things. But this might be one of the hardest things he has ever had to do. He willed his hand to move. To create lines and circles that formed letters, and then words, but most difficult of all, that told the truth.

It was time. He could forgive himself for making a mistake. Hell, he could forgive himself for making many mistakes. He was not perfect and had no wish to be. But he wouldn't be able to forgive himself for being too proud to ask for help. Especially when so much hanged in the balance.

He wrote to his mother and told her everything. Apologized for the half-truths, the outright lies and all the trouble he has caused. Swallowed his pride and asked for help.

Not for the world. Not for the continuation of this universe. Not even to solve humanities problems. But for _him_. He needed help. He felt like he was drowning. And he needed her. Simple as that.

He dropped the quill and let the parchment dry. He felt both better and worse, like he had scrubbed his skin raw. He dreaded and yearned for the response. Wanted, _needed_, her forgiveness but felt he did not deserve it. He hasn't been a very good son.

He got out of his bed.

He needed to get out. Do something. Anything. Just get out of this stuffy place with its noisy people. He needed to regain his balance and control. As he put his leather boots on he knew just what.

"Charles, where are you going?" Tom asked before Charles could even cross the common room. Tom had been talking with a group of boys in their year. Books littered the table they had been sitting on.

"A walk," Charles said simply. There was an implied challenge in Charles' tone. Not many would have detected. But Tom heard it in the tone. Saw it in the way Charles twisted his head to the side slightly.

Charles wanted to let out steam, and he wanted to know if Tom was up to the challenge.

"I'll accompany you." Tom left his leather bag besides the chair and walked towards Charles. Charles hoped no one dared to steal from Tom. That bag had the same temperament of its master.

Charles shrugged, as if it didn't matter to him one way or the other, but his lips curved minutely in a smirk, and his eyes shone. They met with Abraxas on their way out. Abraxas got up from the couch he had been lounging on with his friends and intercepted them.

"Where are you both going? It is almost curfew."

"Out." Tom replied flatly. The _'and you are not invited'_ hanged in the air, unsaid but clear.

"Are you in or are you out?" Charles asked with a small smile. He ignored Tom's furious glare that promised doom and destruction.

Abraxas smiled darkly. "I'm in." _Merlin, he had missed this!_ Abraxas thought gleefully as he turned and followed both boys out. They met few people out, but since it was not yet curfew, no one stopped them.

They avoided the entrance doors because they had alarms and detection charms to keep track of the students. Instead, they climbed a window on the first floor and dropped to the ground gracefully. They walked around the castle, staying close to the walls, and walked towards the forest when they were facing the side of the castle that was mostly vacant at night so someone looking out the window wouldn't see them.

The night was cold and clear. Perfect for what they wanted to do. They walked under an impressive blanket of stars in a cloudless night. No words passed between them. It was the blessing and the curse of knowing each other for as long as they had. Words became unnecessary noise.

They entered the forest and the dark swallowed them in an oppressive embrace. Trees covered the night sky, creating a different kind of sky that was equally impressive in its own way. Sounds from night animals clamoured for attention, drowning the sound of their boots crunching in the foliage. No one lighted their wands, Charles had even forgotten his in his bag, but they walked steadily in the dark with no set path. Breathing in the smell of moss, dirt, death and life.

"No magic," Was Charles only instruction and warning before attacking.

Tom jumped before his mind had finished processing the words, and just in time it seemed, he avoided a kick that would have surely rendered him unconscious by only a hand span. Abraxas attacked Charles, while Tom was still in the air. Tom twisted his body and landed on his feet, feeling the first delirious rush of adrenaline. Tom smiled a true smile. His mind calmed, his breathing deepened, his heart rate accelerated and the world became simpler. Clear.

They lost themselves to the moment. Troubles, disappointments, and worries that had nothing to do with the present were forgotten. Pushed back and replaced by simpler thoughts. Jump or dodge? Forward or back? High or low?

The lines were clearly marked, Abraxas and Tom against Charles. Tom might not like the blond idiot but he wouldn't turn down an ally in this fight. Charles was impossible to beat when he was like this, and Tom had suffered Charles' anger too many times not to appreciate an ally, temporary as he might be.

Usually Charles and Tom were evenly matched. They knew each other too well, could predict the other too well, but when either of them needed to let out some steam it was a whole new game. Even Abraxas turned into a ruthless fighter after arguing with his parents. The need to quiet at troubled mind pushed them beyond and above their boundaries. Every kick, punch and jump was directed at the problem. The bigger the problem the harder they pushed.

It was best to have backup in fights like this, if only to count on a shoulder to drag you back to bed and force-feed you some healing potions. Hopefully followed by copious amount of healing magic.

The moon continued to move and they kept at it. It was difficult to keep track of the time. The trees hid the moon. And they couldn't trust their instincts. Sometimes a minute stretched and felt like an hour, and hours running could pass in a second. Tom was sweating heavily, and had strategically retreated to a high tree. More like abandoned Abraxas to his doom. But someone had to be sacrificed for the greater good, which in this case meant a few minutes of rest for Tom.

Before Tom could process it, he was falling. A glint of metal stuck on the branch he had been lounging on was his only clue before gravity dragged him down. And down. Blindly, he grabbed a branch, stopping the descent and almost dislocating his shoulder in the process. Knowing he only had a second, Tom used his upper body strength to swing his body to a close branch from another tree. His hands had only grabbed the other branch when he heard the swish of metal and the rustle of a nearby branch falling.

Where the hell was Abraxas? Bloody imbecile. The blond was no use as a sacrifice or a partner. With a deep breath, Tom let go of the branch. There was something to say about muscle memory. Tom was not sure if his body rolled or twisted in the air, but he felled on his feet much farther than he thought possible. If asked, he would swear it had been on purpose and he was just _that _good. Privately, he was glad for small miracles. The moment he regained his balance, and his wit, he ran like hell. Not running away. No. It was a strategic retreat. Very manly. Not at all cowardly. Smart.

He felt Charles at his back, only a second away from catching him. But hell if Tom would make it easy for the prat. Tom ran straight to a tree; walking two quick steps in the bark, his body parallel to the floor for an instant before throwing a leg back and letting his body follow the momentum. He landed behind Charles, not sure how, but he wasn't going to question his good fortune. Tom grabbed Charles from behind, locking Charles' arms in a secure position. Tom evaded Charles' back kick, but was helpless to stop them from both landing hard on the floor.

A fight on the floor followed, each trying to pin the other to submission. In the end Tom let his muscles relax, and sagged in Charles' anaconda embrace. He was too tired to continue. Too tired to care. He had a feeling he was not going to win this either way. Charles' black moods made Charles persistent as hell. Charles relaxed and pushed himself off Tom to sprawl besides him on the forest ground. Their harsh breathing so loud that it drowned all other noise. Tom thought about attacking Charles now, while he wasn't expecting it, but even the thought was exhausting him.

The sweat and lack of movement caused their body to shiver with cold. Twigs and branches poked at their back. The grass itched. Small things moved bellow, around and on top of them. It was uncomfortable but they couldn't find the energy to care.

"Feel better?" Tom questioned when he was able to generate enough saliva to moist his parched mouth.

"Much."

"Where's the traitor?" Tom was going to kill the blond when he found him. He tried to move an arm to get up. Ouch. Maybe tomorrow though.

"Gave up a while ago. Went to fetch sandwiches."

"Bastard…" After a moment, "With mustard?" Tom questioned hopefully.

"With mustard." Charles assured him.

Charles got up and offered his hand to Tom, and Tom took it gratefully. They met with Abraxas in the kitchens. It was late enough that the students and teachers patrolling had call it a night. They walked around, talking and joking undisturbed.

They decided to sit on the floor of the Great Hall with their spread of stolen goods. The dark hall mimicked the starry, cloudless night sky. It was striking, even more impressive than at day. They felt euphoric, free, and relaxed. At peace with the glorious after effects of rigorous exercise. And content with food in front of them, and the night sky on top.

"But what about Tom jumping from tree to tree like a monkey?" They laughed until it hurt. Until they had to hold their stomachs, tears fell from their eyes and they had to stop or risk asphyxiating.

"And," Charles stopped, he was laughing too much to continue. "Abraxas' scream when I found him behind the rock." Abraxas spluttered but did not deny it. They had all heard it.

Tom gasped for breath, "Brax, did you see Charles fall?"

Abraxas nodded and doubled over laughing, holding his stomach and cleaning his tears.

"Damn tree. Came out of nowhere." Charles defended weakly, his mouth hurt from laughing so much. "Pass me more of that bread," Charles demanded from Tom. Tom tossed him a piece of bread, which Charles grabbed from the air and dunk it to a sauce the Elves had made.

After eating they still didn't feel like sleeping so they went to the lake to see the sunrise.

"It is really beautiful here," Charles commented. Half of the sky was still dark and starry, and half was bathed in brilliant light.

They stayed watching the sun rise over the horizon. They sat under a tree with deserts from last night's dinner and freshly made tea on their hands. Charles had his back to a bark, Abraxas head was on his lap and Tom sitting besides him.

The quiet moment of introspection lasted only a moment and died a quick death when they started talking about Quidditch. A notice in the common room had notified the students of the dates of try-outs. Abraxas was thinking about trying out. But Tom was not a believer in Quidditch. Charles and Abraxas were trying to convert Tom and get him out of his blasphemous ways.

"So should I charm a dustpan and fly?" Tom mocked. "You can fly on a broom, I on a dustpan and Charles on a mop. What a fine team we'll make. We can call ourselves The Cleaning Maids."

Charles laughed and Abraxas groaned in exasperation. The quarrel continued with increasingly ridiculous arguments.

It was normal. It was peaceful. It was what Charles needed. He wouldn't trade his friends for anyone. They fought, bickered and sometimes didn't get along, but they were the best friends he could ever ask for.

Charles looked at his wrist.

_This is real._

-0-

It was disappointing having to go back and change for class. A few had noticed their disappearance but no one dared to confront them about it. Charles made himself unapproachable. Tom was scary and powerful. And no one would risk the social suicide of reporting the Malfoy scion to Slughorn. Charles slept during class. Abraxas slept on top of his lunch, and Tom lasted until the last class and went to sleep without dinner.


	32. Chapter 32: Envy

Chapter 32: Envy

September 3

Charles woke up to his roommates' loud conversations, doors slamming close, and boys' screaming about stolen things. Charles ignored all of this and rolled back to sleep. It was still early and classes didn't start until nine. He was not getting out of bed until 8:30 am. A toast for breakfast was enough.

After what felt like a second, Tom opened his bed curtains, already impeccably dressed, and demanded he be up and ready for breakfast in fifteen minutes. Charles glared half-heartedly and sat. Tom left without another word. Charles waited until the curtains slid back to place and rolled over, dragging the sheets up and over his face.

"I mean it Charles." Tom's voice warned from where 'his side' of the room was. "Don't make me tell Annabelle in my next letter that you are being irresponsible." In a malicious tone he added, "Also, if you are not perfectly dressed and with your hair brushed at breakfast I'll add that you are showing signs of depression and suicide tendencies."

Low.

Really low.

Should-have-left-him-in-the-orphanage-when-he-had-the-chance low.

"Remember this moment," Charles said in a loud voice was easily heard by Tom, "so you'll know why I'm on the opposing side of the rebellion when you try to take over the world."

Tom did not take him seriously. Charles was dead serious.

Charles pushed the bedcovers with a grunt and tiredly rubbed his face. He yawned and opened bleary eyes to see his roommates in different states of undress and panic. Charles dragged his belongings from his trunk and headed towards the communal baths without a word to the others. Tom had already left. Coward.

Boys from Charles' year were running from one room to another looking for 'missing' belongings. Or just plain running with panicked faces and desperately looking where to hide. The older were intimidating the weak and generally making Charles' patience run out.

Apparently, it was tradition for the older boys to 'welcome' the younger. From the oldest male to the youngest third year took joy in tormenting the first and second years to their hearts' content. Males of all ages were freely allowed to other all male corridors even if it was not their own corridor. Presumably, it was so they could offer guidance, comfort and help to each other. At all times. This made Slytherin boys' very paranoid and twitchy creatures, expecting an attack or ambush at all times.

The Head of House was confident the experience built character and taught the students a thing or two about alliances, strategy and thinking under duress. As long as no one took it too far, it was ignored. Slytherin students were always best at wards, defence and offence and had better chances finding successful, high-paying jobs.

The second year boys had the edge of a full year to learn defence and offence techniques and the knowledge of what was coming for the first month of the year. But the first years were woefully unprepared for the onslaught that greeted them on the second day. The first day being given as a mercy day. Charles and Tom had arrived too late on the second day, having not slept in the dormitories, to catch the action.

Charles bypassed the boy hanging upside down in the hallway; avoided the group that consisted of mainly fourth years pushing a small boy around like a squishy ball, dodged the missiles and running boys and entered the chaotic wet mess that was the showers. If possible, it was worse in the showers. The place was made for thirty boys, not one hundred. Three older boys were holding a boy under water. A few of Charles year mates were stuck in the ceiling, nude. And a crowd was formed around what Charles supposed was the rest of his year mates.

The noise level was deafening. Jeers, panicked screams, pleas for help, laughter, cheers, all combined with the natural echo of the room made for an explosion of sound.

Humiliation was the soup of the day. Everything was just a touch from being truly harmful. At least not physically harmful.

With a weak repelling ward Charles was left unbothered. But it still left the problem of walking around the slippery, crowded room.

When he arrived back to his room, irritated beyond belief, the entire room had been ransacked. His trunk and Tom's trunk were untouched but not by lack of trying. Bloody handprints covered Tom's trunk and the floor around it. Tom's sadistic nature was apparent even in his trunk's savage defence.

He passed a casual brush over his wet hair, dumped his belongings in the trunk and closed it with a kick to the top. He picked the mail that was awaiting him on top of his already made bed, silently thanking the Elves, and made his way out.

By the time he arrived at breakfast he was in a foul mood. _Will he have to deal with this every morning until the brutes get tired? How bothersome._

Tom was sitting besides Abraxas in the middle of the Slytherin table. Black and a few of Abraxas' year mates sat around them but a spot directly in front of Tom was empty. Charles walked towards the spot, noticing that most of the Slytherins were conspicuously absent. Most were still partaking in the activities, whether as victims or abusers. Charles had seen a few careless, or unpopular, third and fourth years being victims of older males.

Black ignored Charles and the rest of the table glared. Charles was not sure if it was because he looked undisturbed, hair brushed and clothes in place, when he was supposed to be a cowering mess or because he was sitting in third year territory.

The lack of coffee was the final straw for Charles. Charles' responses to Tom's and Abraxas' questions were reduced to a series of grunts and glares.

"Do you find it disturbing that we actually understand the grunts?" Abraxas asked Tom with a frown.

"No. Not particularly. Is like knowing a third language." Tom answered unconcerned. "Pass the mustard."

Abraxas made a disgusted face but passed the mustard.

Charles looked up from glaring at his plate and mutilating his plain toast when something scraped its way to his side of the table. A white ceramic cup with a hot black liquid and a tantalizing smell innocently sat in front of him. Charles looked up to see Tom's smug face and down again at the coffee.

"Since the moment I saw you I knew we were meant to be best friends for life," Charles declared, looking at Tom with all the seriousness of the world. Tom smiled, smugness radiating from his every pore.

If Charles had not been to breakfast all the trouble Tom spent owl-ordering coffee from The Stupid Evil Bint That Sometimes Had Her Uses, waking up early and teaching it to the House Elves would have been for naught.

Charles sighed in complete satisfaction. The morning already looked better. Who cared that most of his first year class were not present or were currently glaring at him for evading the attack? He had coffee.

"Look, Sluggy is coming this way."

Charles looked back to see the professor making his way to them and stopping right behind him. Charles turned to face the teacher.

"Mr Winter, the Headmaster wants to see you in his office after breakfast," Professor Slughorn said.

"Of course Professor. I'll be there as soon as I finish," Charles responded politely.

There was no war, no problem, absolutely nothing in this world, that could stop him from finishing his coffee short of death. And it better be his.

Abraxas waited until he was out of earshot to ask, "What do you suppose he wants?"

Charles shrugged and ignored the questioning looks from their curious neighbours. Charles passed Tom a perfectly prepared cup of tea, a 'thank-you-we-are-almost-even-now' and made a hand signal for Abraxas to pass the eggs. Abraxas passed the eggs and Tom put a sandwich he had prepared on Charles' plate. Charles stuffed the sandwich with egg and bit into it with relish. A guilty Tom was the best kind of Tom.

Abraxas offered his own empty cup of tea to Charles hopefully; Charles rolled his eyes, put the sandwich down, and prepared a cup of tea for Abraxas. Charis Black made a choked sound and glared at Charles. Charles glared back while putting the exact amount of sugar Abraxas liked.

Charles was glaring because he knew that Black had been looking for him that morning, he was not sure why Black was glaring but it hardly mattered. Charles was beginning to think it was his only expression.

"Who do we have here? Little Charlie," a mocking voice whispered close to Charles' ear.

Frankly, the 'little' was out of place, Charles thought, he might not be the tallest pole in the Quidditch pitch but he was not down with the grass either. Charles looked back to see who was calling him 'little'. He was a tall, at least fifteen years old, Slytherin boy but other than that Charles knew nothing about him, had never even seen him before or given him any reason to single him out. Charles blinked blankly at Tom.

"MacMillan," Tom supplied helpfully, "Prefect. He was in charge of reading the rules and regulations on the first day and has been taunting you since yesterday. Ring any bells?"

"Has he?" Charles questioned with a curious frown, swallowing another bite from the sandwich in thoughtful concentration. No, he still did not remember seeing him before. Must be one of those people. The ones you never notice no matter how many times you see them.

Charles faced the boy after deciding how he should proceed.

"I don't believe we have met, Charles Winter," Charles replied politely, with a seriousness that was at odds with his young face and boyish good looks.

"I'm …Ahh…I'm Richard MacMillan." The boy stuttered, looking confused. MacMillan had been expecting cowering fear, not this, -whatever this was, and the unexpected reaction threw him off balance.

"Is there was something you wished for Mr MacMillan?" Charles asked.

"Yeah- I mean, no. No…" _Where was the submissive behaviour?_ MacMillan gathered his wits and accused, "I did not see you this morning."

"I was there." The boy replied simply. Not expanding. No excuses. No stuttered replies.

"I did not see you," he repeated unthinkingly. MacMillan suddenly forgot what the conversation was about when the boy's spectacles clad eyes hardened behind the thick glasses, as if he had tired of MacMillan's presence. The way the boy watched him…predatory and focused, a silent domination he wielded masterfully, as if it was as natural to him as breathing.

Charles nodded and looked at MacMillan expectantly. The message was clear. He had tired out his welcome. Anger bubbled inside of him, _who was this first year to dismiss him as if he, a prefect, was no one important?_ His protest died a swift death when MacMillan took another long look at the boy. He had not survived five years at Slytherin by ignoring his instincts and they were clearly screaming at him to not be stupid or rash like a Gryffindor.

"I'll expect to see you tomorrow." MacMillan said, and casually walked to his usual place, as if _he_ had been the one that got bored with the conversation. The fifth years that had been watching the interaction threw suspicious looks at Charles. The rumour that Charles had somehow jinxed or cursed MacMillan with his freaky veela magic, after someone undoubtedly mentions his ancestry, would not be long coming.

Charles looked up after a few moments later when neither Tom not Abraxas had broken the silence. "What?" he asked in annoyance when they just stared at him.

"What did you expect me to do?" Charles questioned, annoyed, "Fight him? Humiliate him? Gain an unnecessary enemy? Forgive me for not wanting schoolyard bullies with inflated sense of worth bothering me. Fighting MacMillan would make _me_ the bully. Besides, he's not important. Not worth my time or energy." He certainly hadn't been important enough to remember.

Of course Tom and Abraxas, especially Tom, would have preferred a more violent confrontation but Charles wanted seven years of peaceful schooling. Having to watch his back 24/7 was not conducive to that goal.

"What hour are try-outs on Friday? Charles asked Abraxas, dismissing the incident.

* * *

><p>Charles knocked on the door twice and waited. Headmaster Dippet called him in to the office. Inside the round office were the Headmaster, Professor Dumbledore, the school Mediwitch and a young couple. Charles greeted them politely and was asked to sit down.<p>

"Mr Winter, you may relax, you are not in trouble," The Headmaster assured him from his perch behind the large oak desk. "We are merely in need of your assistance. As you might have heard a first year student suffered an accident on the train. These are Mr and Mrs Hornby, parents of Olive Hornby, the student that suffered the accident. We are wondering if you know something about what happened on the train that might give us a clue. An older student mentioned he saw a dark haired boy with large spectacles talking with Olive Hornby."

"Is she alright?" Charles questioned with a worried frown. His legs dangled from the high chair, too short to reach the floor.

"She is stable but the parents would like to know what happened to their daughter."

"If I can help I will, Headmaster Dippet."

"Very well then Mr Winter, can you please tell us anything you can remember from the encounter. Do not fear you are in trouble. We are all well aware that you, being a first year, could not have hurt her." Dippet smiled in a way that was supposed to be reassuring and encouraging but was really condescending.

"I have to ask Mr and Mrs Hornby, was your daughter sick before entering the train?" Charles asked, looking directly at the young worried-looking parents.

"No of course not." Mrs Hornby denied quickly with an affronted edge, not looking at anyone in the eye and holding her beaded purse tightly. Mr Hornby, a handsome man with brown hair and brown eyes, took his wife hand and squeezed it in a reassuring manner.

"We have to tell them," Mr Hornby told her.

"You have to understand, she was a perfectly normal little girl and the Healers couldn't find anything wrong with her," Mrs Hornby pleaded desperately, still not looking at anyone in the eye.

"Until a year ago our daughter was perfectly healthy and happy. One night she started vomiting. We gave her a nausea supressing potion. A few nights after that incident she had a nosebleed. We gave her a potion that stopped nosebleeds. It worked and we thought that was that. Then she started having fainting spells. They lasted a while but another potion stopped them. Then…the night terrors came. Dreamless potions cured it. But we worried for her…she would sometimes be confused and disoriented. Not knowing where she was or…who she was. She would get better and then get worse. No Healer could tell us what was wrong with her. When the date that Hogwarts letter was supposed to arrive neared we decided it was better if she did not attend and told her so. She cried of course and told us it was important for her. We told her that she was too sick to attend. Almost over night she got better. We were too happy to question it." Mr Hornby finished sheepishly, realizing that the miraculous recovery might have not been so miraculous after all. His wife looked distraught.

What they failed to mention were the times Olive turned aggressive, to the point that they feared for their own lives and had to put protective wards around their room. That she hardly resembled herself. That they had secretly hoped that the famed teachers in Hogwarts might know what was wrong with her and help her. That she had escaped their home more times than they could count and went to unknown places and be missing for long periods. And that they were frankly, out of their league and no longer knew how to control their daughter.

"Do you believe she might have fainted and hit her head coming down?" Charles questioned softly.

"No," The mediwith interrupted, "It has been three days and she hasn't awaken. A simple 'Enervate' would have sufficed had that been the case. Her brain also shows signs of being tampered with."

"But if she was presenting symptoms as far as a year ago it might have happened then and not at the train." Dippet reasoned. A harmed student in the train was bad news for the school. No Headmaster wanted that on their record.

"They are recent," the mediwitch assured him with a glare. Dippet cleared his throat and looked away.

"We talked in the line of the loo. She invited me to her empty compartment. She seemed nice but then she started talking about someone stealing her baby." Mrs Hornby made a strangled noise and hid her face in her husband's shoulder. "I thought her strange, after she tried to punch me I went to find my brother in another compartment. I did not see her afterwards."

"Did you retaliate?" Professor Dumbledore asked sharply.

"She's a girl," Charles responded the non-answer simply, as if it explained everything, and everyone left it at that.

"We might know what happened," everyone looked at the mediwitch expectantly, "the wards have alerted me she has regained consciousness." Everyone got up from their sits as one and followed the mediwitch down the spiral staircases in the direction of the Hospital Wing.

"Headmaster Dippet, do you mind if I see Olive?" Charles asked as Dippet on their way down, "I was the last one to talk to her and I feel partly responsible for not seeking an older student for help when I noticed there was something wrong with her."

"Sure, sure my boy." And more loudly asked, "How is dear old Boris, you know, the _Russian Minister of Magi_c and his lovely wife Olga?" Maybe a lone rat in the dungeon did not hear Dippet. Everyone else sure did.

"Very good sir, they asked after you."

"Really?" Dippet asked, genuinely surprised and with a smile that could not fit in his face. Dippet was an academic but that did not mean he did not fell for the trappings of society.

"They were very interested in your fascinating investigation of the effects of magical alga on non-magical fish." Charles made a note to send Boris the information with a note and more of the lemon cake he favours.

"Well, it is a rather fascinating subject."

Charles was afraid that Dippet's head might not fit through the entrance of the Hospital Wing.

"We are having a winter soiree in our manor. It would be an honour to have the Headmaster of our school in attendance and you might continue your conversation with Boris. I'm sure they'll be delighted to see you again. I also found a lot of interesting books in the library about magical alga you might want to take a look."

Dippet puffed up like an arrogant bird. The fact that the rest of the party was overhearing the conversation had the man dizzy with pleasure.

Charles continued to stroke Dippet's ego but his mind was far away. He thought on the information he had heard while hearing Dippet talk about his research with one ear. He wondered if the fact that she 'came back' when she was ten years old had something to do with her insanity. Charles 'came back' to his four-year-old self. The difference in the brain development might explain the different outcomes. At four the brain is not fully formed, it is also more elastic and able to absorb vast quantities of knowledge as the infant is learning language and the world around him. At ten it is still forming, but is more defined and the rate of learning decreases.

His experience had not been easy, but it had not broken him either. He had mourned people who he had never met and often times felt too sick to get out of bed. It took him years to build a wall between 'now' and 'then'. Before the wall had been fully built he could easily access information from other lives, thus mourn those he had never met. But as time passed and the wall progressed the information became harder to reach, inaccessible and more detached.

The few times he had gone over the wall for knowledge his body had certainly felt it. Tom had often complained about finding him passed out with blood coming out his eyes, nose and ears. He had thought that was bad but at least he hasn't gone over the bend.

They reached the double doors of the Hospital wing after a staggering number of stairs and more information about magical algae than Charles cared.

"Maybe you should wait here Mr Winter," Dumbledore suggested mildly before Charles could enter the Hospital.

"Nonsense Professor Dumbledore," Dippet interfered, "the boy is worried about his friend." Friend was stretching it just a bit. "It is only right that his fears are calmed before he enters his first class least he be worried the entire day for nothing." Dippet patted Charles in the head like one would do to a special dog and pushed him forward and away from Dumbledore.

"The family might want some privacy," Dumbledore pointed out. It was a reasonable objection. Dippet glared and Charles could almost read the 'if you risk my chance of making friends with the Russian minister and re-entering the Winter Library I am going to kill you' in the look. Dippet forced a chuckle and pushed Charles past the doors.

Dumbledore closed the doors behind them with a sigh.

The mediwitch was busy hovering over the prone girl and casting spells to determine her health and the parents were at either side of the confused looking girl.

"Mom? Dad? What are you doing here? What I'm I doing here? Where is 'here'?" Olive Hornby questioned rapidly.

"What is the last thing you remember sweetie?" Mr Hornby asked softly. Ms Hornby was alternatingly blowing her runny nose and patting her daughter's shoulder.

Olive spent a long moment frowning and looking at her hands. "My tenth birthday. You were bringing out the cake."

"You were sick, honey. A year has passed. You are in Hogwarts now." Her father said gently, holding her hand in silent support.

When she looked at Charles with wide confused eyes, Charles swallowed his panic and looked into her mind. She was speaking the truth. No memories of any other life were present. Only ten years of living as Olive Hornby, the second daughter of an Italian man and Spanish woman. She had lived the majority of her life in London with her parents, two siblings, grandparents and a horde of cousins.

His spell casting was faultless. Olive Hornby had no worries about interspatial beings or of the possible end of the Universe. She had no responsibilities other than to herself and her family. No doubts or fears other than the normal doubts and fears of a girl her age. She was selfish, self-centred and pampered girl. And will probably continue on to be a selfish, self-centred and pampered woman.

Charles wished he were a better person. Maybe then he wouldn't be feeling so jealous. Charles mumbled something about wishing her a swift recovery and left the Hospital Wing.


	33. Chapter 33:A storm is brewing

**Chapter 33: A storm is brewing**

At breakfast the next morning the professors couldn't help noticing the poor state of the male portion of the Slytherin House. Never in all of their years at teaching had the students ever been as bruised. The female portion was perfect and silent as always, with their heads down and quiet chatter.

Charles arrived to breakfast with a black eye and a wide grin. Tom was a little less than his usual perfect but happy, or what passed as happy with Tom, which was evilly smirking.

"Why did you let yourself be hit?" Abraxas asked curiously as they walked to 'their' sits. They were creatures of habit.

"Wouldn't have been fun otherwise." Charles responded, still in high spirits. After yesterday's incident with Olive Hornby Charles had woken up in the mood to join the traditional welcome _a la Slytherin_. It had been a great stress reliever. He wondered why he hadn't joined from the first day.

"What is the meaning of this?" Slughorn demanded, having waddled his way to the half of the table occupied solely by males. The boys tried to be sly about it, but it was still completely obvious when as one the untrained younger half of Slytherin looked at Charles and quickly looked away. Slughorn turned his gaze towards Charles with a questioning raised eyebrow.

"A little male bonding." Charles answered with a cheerful smile.

"A little?" Someone asked in an incredulous whisper. "It was a massacre," he muttered sullenly.

Charles might have instigated a war.

Tom might have helped.

No one would ever be able to prove it.

No one was seriously harmed though. Only bruised, and nothing that would last more than a week. Surely.

"It was just harmless fun." Tom's smile was all teeth and dark promises. A few more Slytherins inched away from them.

"You still have a smudge of blood on you cheek," Abraxas replied deadpan.

They hadn't used wandless magic. Not even a little. It would not do to show their cards so early. Or ever. Charles and Tom had agreed to only use '_wingardium leviosa_' and only with their wands. An easy, first-year spell that no one would question them knowing it ahead of time. The older Slytherins gained a whole new perspective of the importance of that spell.

The Slytherins were troopers though; the older ones at least understood the meaning of hard play and turnabout. Like Charles, they have their own frustrations to fight thru and were more than happy with the change in their punishment-free fighting.

Dealing with emotional turmoil by talking about it? Hell no! In this, they were very alike.

_Maybe the Hat does have a point in grouping all of us together_, Charles mussed. _All of the kids with the emotional development of a kiwi fruit under one roof. _

Tom had been very careful about not hurting anyone, Charles did not like it when he enjoyed someone else's pain. _It was only a game_, he would always say, _don't make it more_. Knowing Charles as he did, the Slytherins will slowly but surely be playing by Charles' rules without ever noticing a thing.

After a hard glance at the Slytherin table that promised a lengthy talk in the common room about property and the importance of proper appearance, Slughorn continued on his way to the head table.

The mail arrived and for Charles it meant that it magically appeared at his side, for the others it meant bird pellets in their tea. His owl, Rabbit, was on a happy killing spree. Charles ignored the cries of children over their lost pet and the professors' attempt to subdue his owl and read his mail, beginning with a letter from his mother.

"What has you smiling Charles?" Tom asked without looking up. When Charles continued smiling and looking at his mail Tom looked up. "Is that a letter from your mother?" he asked.

Charles nodded with a soft smile, his eyes still going back and forward on the letter.

"What does it say?"

When Charles did not respond fast enough for Tom, he took the papers out of his hands and stared at the sheets of music. Charles muttered something about him being impatient and rude but Tom ignored him in favour of the papers in his hand. He studied them quickly, mentally hearing the music and translating it to a message. Tom was used to their weird way of communicating with music and hardly questioned it anymore.

"You did something idiotic," Tom deduced with a frown after studying the first page. He continued studying the other two sheets before finishing. "And she still loves you even if you are mentally retarded."

Charles glared, but reluctantly responded, "Something like that. She was nicer about it thou." Charles robbed the music sheets out of Tom's hands, carefully folded the sheets and stored them in his inside pocket. Annabelle had also sent a box of homemade treats.

Tom took one look inside the box and declared, "That woman should not be allowed inside a kitchen." He poked one of the black and brown treats with his fork. It blinked at him. _Blinked._Tom switched his fork with Abraxas' and kept a distrustful eye on the box. Many House Elves have died for not keeping a wary eye on Penny's 'lively' cooking.

"Penny helped," Charles explained, after reading a note attached to the box. Charles carefully closed the box and sealed it, using powerful wards to keep whatever it was in.

Tom had five letters from the family but he wasn't going to read them at breakfast. He pretended not to care if they wrote or not, and has not replied, but Charles knew he carefully stored every letter.

After family letters Charles started sorting thru work-related letters. He frowned as he read a letter from the leader of a vampire coven. Apparently a group of five wizards entered vampire territory and attacked. The self-called vampire hunters were apprehended and they were waiting on Charles' instructions.

Charles nibbled on his toast as he thought. Entering Vampire territory and attacking automatically meant execution for the five wizards stupid enough to go against peace-rules that had been for the last century. The Vampires did not have to consult him for that. So it was a test. They wanted to see if he would favour the wizards even when they were clearly in the wrong. They have probably been waiting for something like this to happen for a long time and it was even more probable that the Goblins and Were-community were also waiting to see how he would deal with this.

Charles sighed. Another day, another test, another headache. Charles had what many would sell their soul for: Power, absolute power. The power to start wars or to stop them before they began. The power to make a person, a community, a species disappear with no one the wiser. More power than most people could imagine and more power than any one person could handle.

One wrong word, one wrong move, and it could be the catalyst to the next Magical War, a worldwide war between magical species. The last Magical War won the peace-laws but it almost the cost destroyed the Magical world and caused the extinction of many magical species.

Word about the war Grindelwald has already reached him and it won't be long before he will be forced to take a stand, either in favour or against. The Vampires will probably demand a week-long meeting, in which the subject of the war will only be touched briefly, they were more interested in him than the fate of the wizards. Seraphim took every excuse to meet with him and the Academy was especially insistent on seeing him at every opportunity.

The Goblins will drag him into never-ending conferences about what the impact of a war in Europe will have in the economy, local and international. The werewolves'…well he wasn't sure what the werewolves were going to do, he hadn't had much exposure to them. Werewolves did not want nor need his interference in pack matters when he was not one of them. The only reason they signed the treaties was because they feared the consequences of not doing it.

Charles carefully folded back the letter into its envelope and stored it in his breast pocket a frown marring his face. He opened the Goblin's letter and his suspicious that they knew about the attack skyrocketed. The letter was as nice as they were capable of writing. He only felt mildly insulted by their comments and insinuations after reading it. They were definitely too busy with the grapevine to spend much time politely insulting him. The lack of insults was almost insulting. Charles frowned and shook his head. He was definitely spending too much time with them if their lack of thought in their insults was insulting.

Tom prodded him and Charles looked up distractedly. Tom made a head signal and Charles looked back, towards the Ravenclaw table. A girl was standing near him, waiting to catch his attention. Charles looked at her expressionlessly and waited for her to talk.

"I just wanted to say: thanks, you know, for being there and helping me." Olive Hornby said awkwardly with a small, shy smile. She had the attention of most of the Slytherin and Ravenclaw table. She had been given a clean health bill the same day she awoke and started classes today after being privately sorted.

Charles only nodded. She stayed a second longer, obviously waiting for him to talk. When it became obvious that he wasn't she blushed and walked towards her table.

He had been unbearably rude, he knew.

Yes, whether she knows it or not, her choices, good and bad, will have an impact on the world, on the universe. She's important in a way that she will never realize, never know. She will change the lives of many. Her touch, unlike others, will have an impact. A consequence. A lasting impression.

But none of that changed the fact that Charles could not look at her. Could not stand the sight of her. Wished her away, out of his sight and preferably in another country. He was being unreasonable, a more mature part of him told him, she could be useful later on. He told that part to kindly shut up.

Tom raised a questioning eyebrow. Charles ignored him and for once Tom left him be. His troubled expression might have had something to do with it.

-0-

"Mr Winter, Mr Riddle, stay after class." Merrythought barked. Charles was startled from his nap. He had been dozing off with his head bowed, pretending to read with a quill hanging loosely from his hand.

Charles cleaned his desk and waited with Tom until the rest of the class filtered out.

"Boys, I have seen lizards more interested in my class than you two." Tom opened his mouth to deny it but the professor cut him. Charles did not try to deny it. "Oh, you, Mr Riddle, you hide it well, taking notes, looking up at all the appropriate times. You, Mr Winter," She pierced Charles with a disapproving look. "I wanted to poke you to make sure you were not brain dead."

"I have taught many brilliant minds in my time, and they have all been a right pain in the arse. They get bored easily and when they get bored they start causing trouble. I'm old. This bag of bones is not what it used to. I don't want nor need more trouble from whippersnappers like the two of you. _Is that clear?"_

"We will not cause you any trouble." Tom replied dutifully. Charles kept his sullen silence.

"You better not! I may not be as young but my wand is still sharp." She looked at both of them sternly for a moment, "What is your wand made of, boy?" She asked Charles, looking at the old, fragile looking wand with scars running around its thin body. The boy held it delicately, as if he knew that it could break at any moment.

"My wand? I don't know. I picked it up from a used bin in a second hand store." Charles replied with a bored air.

"A death man's wand?" She asked sharply. Wizards had all sort of silly superstitions about using a dead man's wand. A wand is a wand in Charles opinion. "Did you at least feel a connection to it?" she asked. Her old face showed she was annoyed with him.

"Don't know." Charles shrugged, "I just stuck my hand in a bin full of wooden sticks and picked the first one my hand touched."

"So it could be a regular twig for all you know?" She asked, clearly exasperated and annoyed.

"It be a pretty expensive twig then." Charles drawled, looking at his gold pocket watch with impatience. She did not take the hint.

"How much did it cost?" she insisted.

_Why do you care?_ Charles wanted to ask but instead responded, "Half a galleon. But I managed to lower the price down to 7 sickles."

She looked at Charles flatly. "Go to your next class." She did not sound pleased. "I'm not giving you any note. Run if you don't want detention."

Charles and Tom ran to the other side of the castle while grumbling over 'crazy old ladies'.

-0-

They arrived to their second class, Transfiguration, slightly late but Dumbledore only remarked on the misbehaving stairs and an unusual story of how he got lost on his first year teaching. It was left unsaid that they were excused only because they were first years and still learning the route to the classroom.

Charles moved to his usual chair at the back, expecting Tom to sit up front as he always did, so it came as a surprise when Tom followed him to the back of the crowded classroom. Since it was an introductory class, Slytherin and Gryffindor shared this period. The class consisted of sixty plus students sited in a large amphitheatre-like classroom. One teacher to sixty students meant that the students could get away with small infractions as long it did not interrupt the flow of class.

"What are you doing here?" Charles whispered. Tom maintained a sullen silence and Charles sighed, not surprised at Tom's difficult behavior.

As class progressed Tom got increasingly closer to Charles and increasingly annoying to the point where Charles was glaring at Tom every few seconds. "What has got into you?" Charles snapped, silently.

"Bloody headache," Tom responded, rubbing his temples. He glared at the oblivious teacher. "The man cannot control all of that…_cheerful _magic." He spat the word as if it was vile.

Charles concentrated on Dumbledore. He was not Sensible to magic like Tom was so it did not come naturally him but he could force it. Dumbledore was very, very powerful, his power filled the room and it vibrated like an over-exited puppy. It figures that Tom would have a strong negative reaction to that sort of cheerfulness.

Charles looked around the room, he could tell that a few of the more sensible were reacting to the magic in different ways. Some were looking at Dumbledore in a hero-worship trance and others cringing away when Dumbledore walked too close.

The more power you have the less control you are likely to have, unless you follow a rigorous training of self-control, meditation and the Old Ways. It was clear that Dumbledore followed none but the minimal necessary to control accidental burst due to strong emotion.

Charles dragged Tom closer and said, "You should have told me sooner," with a fond sort of exasperation.

He wrapped Tom in his power and felt Tom relax in his arms. Overwhelmed by the magic but not adversely.

As any 'gift' in this world, it was double edged. Being extra sensible to magic could be a boost or a weakness. Right now Tom had the choice between being overwhelmed by Dumbledore's magic that was irritating to him, or being overwhelmed by Charles' magic that was a little too addicting for him and relaxed him beyond what Tom would normally accept while being in company.

The class passed slowly. Dumbledore dictating the basics of transfiguration and the class dutifully writing them. Neither Tom nor Charles made any move to write, almost lulled to sleep by Dumbledore's deep rumbling voice, the scratches of quill and the force of the magic around them.

Even Charles, that was immune to his own magic, was felling the relaxing effects of the magic covering them, shielding them, passing from him to Tom to the Earth and back in a comforting and familiar path.

They were listening to the lecture, in a detached sort of way. Charles' arm around Tom's shoulders and Tom's head in his shoulder. Dumbledore sometimes asked them questions about the lecture, to make sure they were listening, to which they replied with the correct answer before burring back in the warmth.

The professor seemed uncomfortable with their closeness. Not openly, but Charles and Tom had been around Frank long enough to recognize the signs of someone uncomfortable with their easy familiarity.

They were too relax and comfortable to care what the professor thought of their display. Even the usually uptight Tom was uninterested about his reputation at the moment. They had had more than proved that morning that they were dangerous if they wished to be. None of their year-mates will try anything so soon. Their opinion of Charles might reverse back to Charles being meek and dependant of Tom's protection but that was fine with him.

The comfort of the moment did not stop Charles from spending half of the class taunting Tom. He kept a string of light taunts, repeating every word Tom had said to him about being 'mature', 'stop acting like children', 'men don't hug', 'having a strong reputation in front of their peers so they could be respected' and so on. Tom was only mildly annoyed with him, which spoke volumes about how relaxed he was in his present position.

Every time Tom became more than mildly annoyed Charles would increase the amount of magic that flowed into Tom and drive Tom back into mindless pleasure and the game would begin again. Charles was trying to desensitize him with immersion therapy. At least that was the excuse. He was actually having too much fun to stop. Tom seemed to know this and glared at Charles' half-smile.

Tom did not try to get away from him so the game continued. Dumbledore let them go with a reading assignment and they made their way to the Great Hall. Sixty-plus students walking the same corridors after spending two hours siting quietly meant that fights broke out, insults were traded and groups were formed and torn apart. Usual Hogwarts behavior.

Charles sat besides Abraxas, ignoring Black's ever-present glare. Tom sat with their year-mates, ignoring Charles with the skill of someone used to ignoring what they don't want to confront.

Charles used a small bit of magic so that anyone listing in on his conversation with Abraxas will hear Quidditch talk.

"Have you ever had an adverse reaction to Professor Dumbledore's magic?"

Abraxas frowned, "No. Did Tom?"

"Yes."

"Did you tease him?"

"Does the sun rise from the East?"

Abraxas threw his head back and laughed gaining the attention of those around them. The afternoon classes passed by slowly and were tediously unremarkable.

-0-

It was dark. Not the normal darkness of the night Charles was familiar with but the pitch-black that comes from being in a dungeon with no fire or torchlight. The kind of darkness that made opening your eyes or keeping them tightly close the same thing.

Out of habit Charles blindly looked for his glasses on the night table. Putting them on did not change anything but it was a too ingrained habit for his sleepy mind to realize the futility of the act. After some blind fumbling he picked up a metal contraption from the night table. It was a manual lighter, when the two metal were pressed the friction created a spark. It took three tries to light up a candle. A soft circle of light illuminated the room.

All of his roommates were asleep with the curtains drawn to keep the chill out.

He found a pair of soft slippers and his robe and silently padded out of the room with the candle in a metal plate. Lights out was literal affair in Slytherin and after 'lights out' they were not supposed to get out of bed. The sheets had warming charms in them so if you were where you were supposed to be, you'd be fine. The complete darkness was enough to keep most in their bed without the added incentive of warmth. But Charles had to pee. Now.

His breath fogged in the cold air as he padded out of the room. The hallway was also in complete darkness. Only the small circle of light from the candle separated Charles from absolute darkness. The bathroom was not far away. He walked slowly and carefully, making sure the candle did not go out. He did not want to be caught doing wandless magic by another Slytherin. The information was too powerful for another to have.

Nearing the bathroom he heard noises. A swish of clothe here. Running feet there. Whispered conversations. Hushing sounds. Charles tentatively held out his hand to the door and pushed. All sound stopped. And all eyes turned on him.

All of them froze and watched him with as much fear as he must have shown in the first second. "Elves." Charles whispered in relief. Fifteen of them to be exact. Cleaning the mess of the day. Before he could talk they disappeared soundlessly. They had just broke two important rules: Not be seen, not be heard.

Charles let the tension fall from his body, shook his head in amusement at his silliness and used the facilities. If he could still be scared by a dark corridor and whispered voices the world was doomed. He couldn't help laughing at his own daftness. Of course, it was elves. What else had he been expecting?

He stepped out of the bathroom with a smile on his face, looking down and thinking how a silly thing like that could have ever possibly scared him. When he finally looked up, he cursed and dropped his candle. The metal plate crashed loudly and the light went out.

"Tom?" Charles asked tentatively.

"Charles you clumsy troll!"

Charles scowled. Yes, that was Tom all right. No boggart or night monster could be quite as rude.

"You scared the shit out of me," Charles admitted while he blindly started touching the last place he had seen Tom. He found an arm and grabbed it.

"What are you doing here?" Charles asked. The absolute darkness had Charles' heart on his throat.

"I felt you leave."

"I was just going to the bathroom."

"Oh."

"What did you think? That I was leaving?" Charles asked disbelievingly. He could not see Tom's face so he strained to hear what Tom's words would not say.

"No. Not exactly. I just wanted to see what you were doing. We are not supposed to be up." The first was a lie. The second was true. The third was a decoy.

"Let's go back." The hallway was cold and dark. Charles did not want any more surprises. Tom took his hand and they walked slowly back. Using the cold stonewall as guide. The door opened easily, the well-oiled hinges did not make a sound. A tug to his hand led him to Tom's bed and he followed willingly.

They settled under the covers and tugged the curtains close. A small, heatless light ball illuminated their faces under the covers.

"I miss magic." Charles confided in a whisper. He missed lighting fire with a snap, levitating objects with a careless wave, opening doors with a thought. Not caring who saw him because it was only his family or close friends. He missed living and breathing magic.

"Me too," Tom confided. They were in a magic school and they have never felt so disconnected with their magic.

"Are you sad at how things turned out?"

For Charles, Hogwarts might not mean anything but for Tom…It had been Tom's first hope, his first dream. A fantastical world of magical castles and _possibilities_. He had been dreaming of this since he was six and trapped in an orphanage with no way out. Charles did not care either way, but Tom did.

Tom did not respond right away, just looked up at the blankets that covered them with a frown.

"It is not what I expected." Tom admitted after a while with obvious difficulty. This talking thing was not their style. "They always call me Riddle as if throwing it in my face that I'm not truly part of any family."

"You know that is not true."

"I know. But they never let me forget that I was not wanted by my own family."

Tom was really mad. Charles could tell by the lack of emotion in his voice, the lack of expression on his face and the tension he couldn't quite hide from his body.

Charles did not know what to respond to that, so he didn't. Eventually they fell asleep. The light slowly dimming out as their consciousness slipped. They slept peacefully and deeply as children often do. The bed was big enough for them to get lost but they still slept intertwined in each other, the covers tightly drawn to keep the cold out.

"Charles wake up." A push. "Charles wake up." Sheets taken away. "Charles it's morning, _wake up!"_

"Izz too earshly." Charles mumbled, giving a good impression a cave monster, and rolled away from the annoying voice in his head.

"You don't know what time it is." Tom countered.

"I know ish too early. Go-away ugly toad." Charles hid under the covers, muttering about annoying toads.

"Charles you are not dreaming. Wake up."

"I'm awake. I'm awake."

"Really? Then why do you still have your eyes closed?"

"Come here," Charles dragged Tom to his side of the bed and hugged him close. "Sleep," he ordered and drowned Tom in magic. Tom felt his eyes slowly closing, too heavy for him to keep open, his breathing even out without his consent and his body relax in less than a minute.

"Cheating," Tom mumbled, wanting to feel angry but too confortable and happy to be able. Charles drew the covers over them and Tom knew no more of the world outside this sinfully wonderful magical cocoon.

-0-

They were late for their first class. They missed breakfast and the morning bullying, much to Tom's distress.

"At least we are well rested." Charles offered with a meek smile. Tom glared. Charles laughed nervously and followed him in the room.

"Tardy on the first week Mr Winter and Mr Riddle? Detention."

He was in so much trouble it was not even funny. Tom will have him licking his boots for a month.

If he was lucky.

-0-

They arrived at Lunch with Tom in a huff. He was hungry, angry at the detention and furious with Charles. Charles walked meekly behind Tom, pretending he felt more contrite about it than he really did. It would not go well to tell Tom 'to get over it'.

Charles liked to sleep with his eyes closed thank-you-very-much. Years of experience have made Charles respect Tom's ability to hold a grudge for long stretches of time and delivering vengeance in painful, embarrassing ways. If anyone knew how to destroy him, all of his weaknesses and where he kept his underwear, it was Tom.

Tom sat and looked at Charles expectedly. Charles sighed resignedly and took his plate and started serving Tom. Red foods on one side, greens directly opposite, liquids on a separate bowl –never touching solids– hot foods besides other hot foods –without ruining the colour palette or mixing sweet and salty– and so on. Charles put the plate in front of Tom and then he started serving his own plate, a mess of everything he liked.

He ignored the looks he was receiving from the other Slytherins. It was easy to judge when they weren't the ones that had to fear waking up in the bottom of the Lake. In pieces.

"Were where you this morning?" Abraxas asked, sitting besides them. "Did you see the paper?" He dropped the paper in front of Charles but Tom snatched it before Charles could pick it up. Rude, invasive prick. Charles held his tongue though. He was on thin ice as it was.

"This would explain all the looks we were receiving." Tom commented.

"We were receiving looks?"

"The fact that you decide to ignore the world around you doesn't mean that the world is ignoring you Charles."

"One can only hope…"

Charles continued with his lunch, patiently waiting for Tom to finish with the paper so he could take a look. Whatever it was, the damage was already done; reading it a few minutes sooner will not change that. At least, that was what he told himself.

"We own a Quidditch team?" Tom asked out of nowhere, looking up from the paper with a frown.

Charles swallowed and answered, "The Irish team and half of the Japanese."

"Why didn't I know?" Tom asked with a deep frown.

"If you bothered to keep a closer track of the family business you would have noticed." Charles reproached mildly but at Tom's glare he amended, "I thought you knew, we met with them last June."

"Are you opening a restaurant in Diagon Alley?"

Charles nodded, "As part-owner." Also a bar and another high-class restaurant for more prominent figures. More business meant more jobs and more people willing to spend money. The Goblins benefited, the Wizards benefited, Charles got richer, had controlling capital and could plant spies in all of his establishments. A win-win scenario for all involved.

Tom passed the paper to Charles and Charles opened it with a silver of dread. The cover story was about a speech Minister Nott had given about new equipment for the Aurors. It was a tactical move for the approaching elections but nothing to do with him. He continued to pass the pages until he found what had everyone else looking at them.

It was in the social section of the paper and covered almost four pages. It had photos of the family in different functions, a list of business owned by the family and an estimate of the family's worth. It was a long list but it barely scratched the surface since it failed to include his business with the Muggles, Goblins and Vampires, which was better for everyone involved that it was left off.

It had a lot of photos and a lot of numbers.

"Guess there wasn't enough news to fill the rag." Charles commented lightly for all the interested little ears in the table and left it at that.

"I like this photo though, do you remember where it was taken?" Charles showed the photo of Annabelle held in Frank's arms and laughing merely. They were both in formal wear. It was very scandalous. A veela and squib in a wizard high-class affair showing open affection.

"In Russia, last spring." Tom responded at once. Charles nodded and kept his thoughts to himself. He fingered the letters from today he had not read and only stored in his inside pocket. He had a feeling the timing of this article was not coincidental.

Anyone with half a brain would know without actually having to read the rag that his family was knee deep in politics. The only reason the paper offered was his parents involvement with war victims, their lobbying for more humane prison conditions and equal rights for non-magical parents with magical children, which the wife of the Russian Minister and a few prominent Ladies supported.

It also talked at length about Charles Winter Senior projects all around the world. The paper called it the largest and most ambitious project of information gathering in the magical world, which was not far off the mark. The small fact that no one knew what exactly he was looking for did not deter them from guessing.

"This is going to change Slytherin politics." Abraxas commented.

Charles hummed, not really caring. Slytherin politics were the least of his concerns. He desperately wanted to read his mail but Slytherins were not known for respecting privacy. Or private space. Or private property. Or anything really.

Charles closed the paper slowly, deliberately, and folded it neatly. He continued with his lunch as if he had never been interrupted.

It seemed that some in the Magical World were not happy with his continued anonymity and were taking measures to push him to the light before he was ready. First with the 'test', which he had yet to respond and now with this.

"Coming Charles?"

Charles smiled, nodded and got up. Tom shivered at that smile. It was his '_someone is going to die and I'm just gleeful for their imminent demise'_ smile. Tom had seen countries fall apart after that smile. There was a reason a family that consisted of a squib and a veela in a highly intolerant world was highly respected…and protected.

A few Slytherins shuddered, inched away and pretended to be busy with their meal. Charles angel-like features were particularly terrifying when his darker tendencies shinned thru.

Heads will roll for this, Charles thought. He had worked too hard and too long to have his family be the centre of a circus and attempted ransoms.

Charles skipped his last class, Potions, under the excuse of feeling unwell. Charles did not even try to fake a cough but Slughorn happily excused him. He now owed the man a favour and the man knew it.

He sent letters ordering maximum security around Abby and Penny's private school, both magical and mundane. The Manor's wards were already impressive but he sent a letter to his parents that he would feel more comfortable if they wear at least two emergency portkeys, one obvious and another hidden in a more mundane object.

One of the letters from that morning was one from the Alpha of a pack of werewolves. Gellert Grindelwald had approached them and offered benefits if they helped him fight in the upcoming war. Making the first move and changing the current climate from 'threat of war' to 'open warfare'.

Internal wars were accepted. Wizards could be at war with other wizards, same as East Goblins could be at war with the South Goblins without breaching the Treaties. It was breached when a goblin meddled in a Wizard War or vice versa, a wizard interfering in a war he had no business in. Werewolves' entering a Wizard War was a breach of the Treaties.

He also had a letter from the Wizard Government of Austria that did not have his name but _Wizard Representative in the Treaties signed in 1936_. One of the trapped wizards that tried to attack the vampire coven was theirs and they were asking him to do the _right thing_ and demand the wizard back, safe and sound, from the unlawful imprisonment by the Vampires.

Things were definitely moving along and he wasn't sure for how long he will be able to stay in the shadows.

-0-

Late that night, Charles sat on his bed with the curtains drawn and papers of national importance spread around his bed. He had dealt with the more pressing issues. The pack of werewolves that had contacted him had received his response.

He was allowing them to take part in the conflict but reminded them that he was not responsible 1) if the wizard Gellert Grindelwald failed to deliver his promise after the war, 2) any repercussion that could come from werewolves being openly involved in the conflict, 3) any action taken by the wizards if any or all of their kind was trapped/killed. He also reminded them that if they hurt any of his family members or anyone under his protection, by accident or intention, he was allowed to wage war against their entire race.

The Vampires received a letter that practically signed away the lives of five wizards and the Wizard Government of Austria received a cold letter that recited the laws, that they should already know, that maintained the peace between the Vampires and Wizards. He said he was an impartial party that was in charge of maintaining peace in the Magical World. He reminded them of the last Magical World War and the devastating repercussions that followed.

It was mostly bullshit.

The Goblins will surely laugh at the 'impartial party' nonsense when they get a hold of the letter, which they surely will because the wizards will not keep this quiet. He did and acted as he liked, only looking after his own benefit and everyone who signed the Treaties knew that.

Charles started grouping the papers and guarding them in a high-security portfolio.

Nothing more could be solved tonight.


	34. Chapter 34: Giant Squid

Chapter 34: The tragic demise of the Giant Squid

He got up from bed, sat down for breakfast, got up, walked to class, sat down for the duration of the lecture, sat down for lunch, sat down for class, sat down to work on the assignments, sat down for dinner, went to bed. He spent the majority of his day sitting down and eating. And not talking.

There was:

No talking in classrooms.

No talking in hallways.

No running.

No fighting.

No magic in the hallways. No magic in the classroom unless the teacher specifies it. No magic in the Great Hall. No using magic on students or teachers. No magic while testing. No magic to complete assignments.

Walk straight. Don't slouch. Pay attention. Ask permission to go to the loo. No eating or drinking in the classroom. No doodling in the books. Pay attention Mr Winter! Are you listing to me Mr Winter?

"_No_." Charles snapped.

"Detention Mr Winter."

Wash, rinse and repeat. Get up. Sit down. Eat. Get up. Sit down. Listen. Get up. Sit down. Eat. Get up. Sit down. Listen. Get up. Sit down. Eat. Get up. Sit down. Write. Sleep. And Again. And Again. And Again.

The teachers thought him an antisocial child. Most of the time he did not get on well with his peers. It would have been more accurate to say that he evaded them like they were a plague. But six hundred students to a dozen teachers serving at the same time as guardians meant he slipped through the cracks.

The teachers couldn't spend much time on him and as long as he wasn't a nuisance, they let him be. He could read or write quietly in the back of the classroom and the over-stressed, over-worked teacher hardly looked at him. He, of course, helped by making himself very small and unnoticeable and the rowdy and homesick kids did the rest of the job for him.

It was the calm before the storm. And Charles was bored. Not just bored but painfully bored. He was ready for the war to start.

He was ready to start a war if things did not pick up.

Things were quiet, at least in the magical side of things. In the muggle side, the bombings had started. His mother was busy organizing efforts to evacuate children and elderly from war zones but until Yule, Charles had no pressing responsibilities.

And it was boring. The students only talked about classes, inane gossip or how important their families were. Who did this, who did that, which person was with whom, this or that fight, he/she likes whom? All very interesting…not.

Tom was usually too busy whipping the other Slytherins into shape or sucking up to the teachers to entertain him.

"I'm dying. I swear I am. One dead neuron at a time." Charles moaned.

It was Friday night and there was nothing to do. Not that there was anything to do any other day. It just happened to be Friday night. Charles was spread out on the sofa looking at the high ceiling. His essays and books forgotten in a messy pile on the floor.

"No one has yet died of boredom Charles." Tom drawled from his position on the armchair by the fire, a dark book on his lap.

They were dressed casually but expensively. Everyone else was still in their uniform. The students rarely took off their uniform, even on the weekends. For completely different reasons Charles and Tom were rarely seen in their uniform after class. They always changed clothes after their last class.

For Charles it was because he preferred to be comfortable. He had confortable brown trousers, tailor made to fit him perfectly and brand new, paired with a size too big, acromantula silk black shirt. The silver glint of the key he had in a chain around his neck was barely seen but every Slytherin had seen it since he and Tom always wore it.

Tom was dressed to impress with white trousers and royal blue shirt that fit him perfectly. It showed off his lithe frame to its best advantage. A silent '_Yes, I have more money than you. I can casually wear top quality clothes to lounge on the sofa because I'm just that rich'_. He was a snob and a narcissistic one to make matters worse.

Charles was so bored he even looked forward to the Slytherin's bullying because at least it was _something_. Something different, something that did not involved eating and sitting, which he did in abundance.

To his dismay, he was not targeted. He had wanted a peaceful year but this was not peace, this was torture. Slow, painful, monotonous death of mind and soul.

"Maybe they didn't quite phrase it like that," Charles mussed, his legs were dangling off the couch while a couch pillow supported his head. "Killed himself with a quill to the eye or Submersed head into boiling cauldron."

"You are not allowed to say suicide jokes," Tom reminded Charles quietly, looking up from his book to meet Charles' eyes. It was an uncomfortable subject.

"I know." Charles sighed morosely. "You suck all the fun in everything." Even if it was Annabelle's fault he was not allowed to joke about suicide, death or a large number of morbid subjects.

Charles pouted. When he was ignored he launched a heavy book in Tom's direction. Tom grabbed it when it was inches away from his face without looking up, which was fortunate because there would have been a high chance of injury otherwise. Tom passed the page of his book calmly, marked it and closed the book, giving Charles his full attention. As the boy was obviously demanding.

"We can do something tonight." Charles tensed but kept looking at the ceiling. "Something stupid." Tom offered as compromise. Charles had been on good behaviour mainly to please Tom. Tom wanted build a solid base with the Slytherins. But Tom also knew that there was so much that Charles could handle. Being still was not Charles' forte.

"How stupid?" Charles asked, looking from the ceiling to Tom with a hint of interest. The first hint of interest he had shown since school started.

-0-

"Tom! You cannot just throw a grenade to the Lake!" Charles squawked, watching with dismay as the light shone under the water and a bubble exploded outwards from the point where the grenade had sunk. They were pushed back a few steps and the explosion created a small earthquake.

The surface of the lake was like a cauldron under fire: bubbling and hissing. It was also mesmerizing. The sound of the explosion had been partially muffled by the water but the light might have attracted someone from the castle. Still, it was dinnertime so the chances were low of someone coming out to investigate.

"You told me to do something about it!" Tom defended. He was standing besides Charles at the shore of the lake. Tom looked fascinated and amazed by the sight, not at all perturbed.

"_Yes!_ Along the lines of deactivate it." Charles moaned, but he couldn't deny that he was having fun. His heart was beating fast and hard, his mind felt sharp and he felt _alive_.

"You should have been more specific. Throwing it to the lake was faster." He did not sound repentant. He never did.

"What are we going to do? Mama cannot know we smuggled grenades to _school_." She'd kill them.

"WE? _You_ smuggled the grenades."

"I smuggled grenade_ parts_," Charles clarified, "but it was you who threw one to the lake. I guess that makes us even."

"Maybe no one will notice…"

They both stared at the bubbling water and the dead fish that were starting to float, belly up. The dark water was gaining a red tint.

"Is that a mermaid?" Tom asked curiously, pointing at the glint of turquoise scale that was just visible among the dead fish.

"I think we also killed the giant squid." Charles mentioned unnecessarily. The huge dead carcase floating spoke for itself. A huge chunk of its head was missing.

"Well this was definitely stupid." Tom remarked.

"But not _The _Stupidest thing we have ever done."

"No. Definitely not the stupidest thing we ever done." Tom agreed.

A few occasions had been close to meriting that title. But the honour was reserved for Charles-on-a-sugar-rush day. It was against the law in at least eleven countries to feed Charles sugar and he had been banned from a few of the more unforgiving ones.

Officially, it never happened.

And only those in high positions, with level 10 security clearance, were able to keep the memory of something that _did not happen_.

-0-

"Why are we having seafood? We never have sea food," Abraxas asked, perplexed. "Is that sushi?" he asked confusedly.

"Stop your whinnying and eat more squid." Tom spat, pushing the bowl towards Abraxas.

Abraxas looked from Charles to Tom suspiciously, his grey eyes boring on Charles' blue. Charles looked too innocent. That alone made Abraxas suspicious.

"Do you want some fish with that crab salad?" Charles asked with a sheepish smile.

"Is that cooked mermaid?" Someone asked, scandalized. Charles tasted a bit of the blue meat. It did not taste that bad. Like fish.

In a completely unrelated matter, the Lake Merpeople declared war on the Sea Merpeople after what they swear was a premeditated act of war by their enemies at the sea. It was now dangerous for students to be near the Black Lake as it was a war zone. Charles assured his mother that it was a baseless rumour that had him at the centre of what was later called 'The Great Water War'. He swore it on Tom's life. Thankfully for Tom, his mother was not magical and was miles away.

Charles profited by selling weapons to both sides of the war and later, much later, created treaties to solve the conflict. Gaining an ally from the water creatures, both Lake bound and Sea bound, and respect from the magical community who only knew him as the Wizard Representative of the Treaties. It was a celebrated event, when for the first time in history, the magical water world and the magical land world united.

Though the Vampires and Goblins never did buy that he had _absolutely nothing_ _to do with it_, and that his rapid response was just good management skills. But they have always been known for their paranoid ways. The fact that he just happened to be in the right place at the right time had been completely coincidental and not in the least a staged event.

Hogwarts population became to accept the squid as a tragedy in the war and in memory of the very much-loved squid the Winter family generously donated a magical giant squid to Hogwarts Black Lake. A silver plaque was put in the trophy room thanking the Winter Family for their contribution to Hogwarts and Tom received the applause of the entire school for suggesting the idea.

At dinner amongst mountains of seafood Charles had everyone laughing with an extremely vulgar tale that no eleven year old should know, much less have lived through, complete with hand gestures and foreign languages. For a change, Charles seemed _alive_ tonight and everyone noticed. He had blended in the background of black-clad students fairly well but tonight he shined.

Of course Charles wasn't aware of his audience because in typical Charles Winter fashion he ignored that there was a world outside his small niche. The tale was not for the entire table, or the adjoining table, or the teachers that were listening in, it was in fact only for the entertainment of three Slytherin boys, but the noisy buggers with no life of their own were giving Charles their complete and utter attention. The audience was blushing a furious red, spluttering, laughing, and unbelieving at all the right intervals.

Tom just sat quietly and enjoyed the ludicrous tale Charles had blown over proportions to the point that Tom, who had been there, could not predict what would happen next. Tom helpfully added details Charles had 'forgotten' to include. Like that he had been slapped by that woman, or had run in opposite direction, screaming at the top of his lungs, from the angry fire-breathing lizards, which in truth had not been larger than a hand. Instead of taking from the story, this add-ins made it even funnier since Charles had absolutely no shame in admitting his cowardice.

In stark contrast with the rest of the students Charles never did try to fit in. He had a theory that the world should just get used to him instead of him having to get used to the world. Tom agreed.

"Mr Winter, _language!_" Professor Dumbledore finally snapped after one too many transgressions.

"Sorry Professor Dumbledore" Charles yelled back, "I did not know you had such good hearing. It's impressive for someone your age." Dumbledore scowled darkly. "I shall keep my voice down."

Even the teachers glared at Dumbledore when they couldn't hear the end of the story, only see the exaggerated hand gestures and people falling off their sits laughing.

Dessert arrived and everyone was surprised with the simple chocolate frogs. One of the professors quietly talked to the Head House Elf. Charles and Tom stayed very quiet and still, listening with the help of a discreet bit of magic. The moment of truth had arrived. Their fate of being discovered depended on the House Elf's discretion.

"Bitsy tried to make the gold last. But the gold did not want to last. The fishy went _boom_ and Topsy said, 'food is food'. And the sugar went up and the candies went down." The poor House Elf looked pleadingly and trembled with anxiousness.

"We do have close to six-hundred mouths to feed," Marchbanks said reasonably.

Dippet sighed. The raise in the budget had not been enough. They will have to find alternate ways of funding the school food or risk having to close the school. The alternate possibility of lowering their own salaries was not even considered.

"I will go to the Ministry tomorrow. We are close to elections, I'm sure I can convince Minister Nott to raise the food budget a second time."

"Maybe we can look into growing our own food." Dumbledore suggested.

"We don't have the budget to hire another full time employee." With that the conversation continued.

At the Slytherin table two boys sighed in relief. Although unspoken, the '_this stays between us_' hung in the air between them.

Charles lips twitched. Tom smirked. Before they knew it, they were laughing uncontrollably. Long minutes and they kept laughing. Gasping, unable to breath and with the fear of expelling the food they had just eaten they kept laughing, until they were too weak to hold their head up and had to use the person besides them to keep themselves in an up-right position.

People started looking at them, wondering what was so funny now.

Charles cleaned his tears. Taking big gasping breaths he controlled himself. He reached for a chocolate frog to evade looking at Tom, knowing he would not be able to control himself if he looked at the still smiling, blotchy, red face of his accomplice.

Abraxas had a knowledgeable glint in his eye and was shaking his head in amused exasperation. Abraxas met Charles' eyes for confirmation and Charles gave him a small secretive smile that spoke volumes. A half smile formed on Abraxas' red lips. He loved knowing something the rest of the school was ignorant of.

The other students were in a mad rush to fill their pockets with chocolate frogs while they lasted. Charles opened the package and the slippery frog tried to escape his grip.

"This is actually pretty gruesome." Charles said in contemplation. The frog looked scarily alive. It even had that 'someone is going to eat me' panic.

Tom had pinned his frog to the plate and was carefully dissecting it while it was 'alive'. The chocolate eyes of the frog looked in abject horror at Charles while Tom used a small knife to cut its insides. It had a very detailed and realistic interior. The 'blood' was liquid chocolate that flowed freely in the plate.

Charles made a disgusted face and put his frog down, letting it escape. Tom offered him the still beating heart of his frog and Charles looked at it curiously. It had small veins. He ate it without thinking too much about it. It beat once in his mouth before melting.

It tasted good.

-0-

* * *

><p><strong>I had fun writing this. I usually try to limit myself to plot-related things because this story is scary long but I think you guys might enjoy this small humor filled chapter as well (well, I hope you had as much fun reading it as I had writing it).<strong>

**Since it did not go well with the flow of the next chapter, I decided to post it as is. Think of it as an introduction for first year. For all of you that are waiting for the vampires, they are coming in next chapter. As well as more details regarding how others perceive Charles and Tom, including their teachers.**

**REVIEW!**


	35. Chapter 35: War and Consequences of flu

Chapter 35: War and the Consequences of the Flu

The effects of the war reached the Magical British community with surprising suddenness. War was on their doorstep. There was no denying it. No hiding it. No more excuses, hidden doors or fake mirrors. They were out of time and had to face the harsh reality.

They were at war.

The few wizards and witches that kept an ear and an eye on the happenings of the rest of the world had been expecting it, preparing for it.

For the rest, a large majority, it was shocking news. Startling. The day of the average wizard consisted of work, family and everyday troubles. Their world was ruled by the day-to-day struggles with barely enough time to glance at the Daily Prophet, much less international news.

Because of this, the news of a war was completely unexpected. One day their biggest problem was their insufferable superior and a tetchy wife and the next day they glance at the paper to see that they are at war. They were caught unaware and unsuspecting. What was worse, they were at war at both sides of the fence: a brewing muggle war on one side and a magical war at the other.

It may have been far less of a surprise had their own Ministry of Magic not done everything in their power to keep the news from the papers. It was a moot point now. For all their efforts, the proverbial cat was out of the bag and there was no way to keep the news from the public anymore.

Now that it was out there, the war seemed to be on everyone's lips. It permeated every hidden corner, pub and teashop like an ever-present rotten smell. It was in every conversation and in every decision.

The old and weary sat around a hidden table in a crowded pub with newspapers on their hands and theories on their lips. The young and reckless were filled with senseless bravery, signing up to fight a war that they did not understand. Young mothers herded their toddlers in, closed the doors and barred the windows.

Minister Nott repeatedly pacified the public, telling them that they were 'safe from outside attacks' and that he 'will do everything in his power to keep it that way'. And 'no, it was false that a Dark Lord has risen and set his sights on conquering Europe.' 'Untrue that muggleborns were being killed left and right.' '_Vote for me_ and I'll secure this country'.

It was all very reassuring. Everything will be all right, they said. The war will not reach us, they repeated. Nothing to worry about, they believed.

Headmaster Dippet gave a small speech at dinner in the Great Hall to reassure the students. He had a small smile that was supposed to be reassuring and chuckled tensely.

You are all safe here, it is best if you concentrate on your studies. Our Ministry will take care of everything. No need to worry, was the basic message.

The weeks that followed the announcement were tense. Tells of destruction, of sudden attacks in the middle of the night, of the chaos and fear abounded. The Daily Prophet made everything worse with their grim predictions. But more than that, it was their lack of explications on _why_ this was happening that set everyone on edge. It also took gleeful joy in repeating of the uselessness of run-of-the-mill wards against the attacks of a highly trained magical army.

The information often contradicted itself. On one side there was Minister Nott's approved commentary: no Dark Lord has risen, no war can touch us, we have the best defence in Europe. (_Vote for me!_)

And then there were the facts: scarcity of food entering the Wirzarding World, shortage of raw materials they obtained from the muggles and the reports from the wizards abroad (_lies_, Mr Nott assured them, _lies to disrupt and create fear_).

But the public was suspicious. There was a limit of how many times a dragon could attack and destroy the supplies and it seemed they had reached that limit far sooner than Mr Nott was prepared for.

Mornings were particularly tense in the Great Hall. Students were at their breaking points, demanding to be let back to their families. It was a time of crisis and they didn't want to be away from their families.

It seemed like disrespect for their family's suffering that they should be learning how to make pineapples dance, eating from solid gold plates and going about their day as if everything was alright. What use was transfiguring a mouse into a golden chalice in time of war? The mouse you can eat when you are hungry. What use was there in a golden chalice when wizards were burning down your village?

The teachers did all they could to stop the students from talking about the war. They did not answer the students' questions in their endeavour to try to make the students forget about a war they could do nothing about and concentrate on their studies, which they could do something about.

But even the professors for all their reassuring talk were showing signs of stress and fatigue. The seriousness that the Head Table adopted when they read the paper each morning was very telling and made the students nervous.

Charles couldn't phantom why someone might want to be part of the Hogwarts staff. They had no life, in or outside the castle walls. No romantic relationship that could last the ten months of isolation. With only a small number of adults to keep company and a lot of work, both in keeping the castle running smoothly and the students behaving. Not to mention preparing and giving lectures and marking essays. Their job never ended. Even after dinner they had to patrol the halls until late at night and spend the weekends watching the students.

With the teacher/student ratio it came as no surprised that they seldom looked after the students needs beyond that they ate, slept and worked because they simply had no time to worry about the individual needs of each of the six-hundred students. They also wanted some time alone to be able to drink a cup of wine in peace and talk about adult matters, away from children.

It became increasingly normal for a student to break down sobbing in the middle of a lecture. The uncertainty of not knowing how their family was faring a worse curse than simply knowing and mourning them. A few students got letters from their families telling them that they were getting out while they still could, for later never to hear from them again.

Come December a large number of students will not know if to board the train and risk not having someone on the other side, or to stay where they were protected and away from the conflict.

Currently there was very little entertainment to be found in Hogwarts, both for the teachers and the students. In consequence there was very little to take the students' minds off the war. Other than the occasional Quidditch game, a book from the library or a juicy rumour, there was nothing to do in the cold stone walls that both protected them and trapped them.

After the fun dinner they looked at Charles for entertainment value but Charles disappointed them by going back to his usual reclusive self.

Both students and teachers looked at him a lot, wanted more of him, _expected more_. The teachers expected to see that brilliance they knew was there. But Charles was silent in all his classes. So silent that they almost did not notice him and when they called him out to answer it was like pulling a tooth of a street cat with only their fingers. After a few attempts, they stopped trying.

The Slytherins did not understand Charles Winter. No one took him as a serious threat. Charles Winter had the lowest magical power of his year, did not show any book-smart and had no burning ambition. For this reason he had no enemies in the serpent house.

He always looked calm, almost bored and at most, slightly irritated. He had no friends, except Tom Riddle and Abraxas Malfoy, which was the crux of their confusion. Abraxas Malfoy was the most powerful wizard of his year, some say of the school, rich and from an old pureblood family.

Riddle was also insanely powerful, a genius and highly ambitious. Evil, sadistic, manipulative, brutal, vicious, merciless and cruel described Tom Riddle. It did not make sense for Winter and Riddle to be friends, but they were. And Riddle was highly protective and possessive of Winter. Everyone learned that even if Winter ignored the taunts and ridicules from the Slytherins with an easiness that was remarkable Riddle was not so forgiving.

A month had passed after the only morning that Winter fought with the Slytherins and most had forgotten about it. A fluke they said, a one-time thing. Winter was almost a squib, fast on his feet and agile like a cat, but weak. He needed Riddle and Malfoy to protect him. Each time someone insulted Winter, Riddle would make sure they paid it in full later. It earned Riddle quite a reputation among the serpents.

Mysterious accidents, broken bones, animal attacks, unfortunate falls seemed to befall on the unlucky ones that made Riddle their enemy. Malfoy was just as ruthless and relentless when it came to protecting the unremarkable boy. The Slytherins now knew better than to pick on Winter when he had two powerful protectors. It was also no fun picking on someone who did not care.

The Slytherins assumed that Riddle only attacked when Winter was busy elsewhere because Riddle did not want to get in trouble with his adoptive family or maybe he did not want to tarnish Winter's innocence.

Because the Slytherins were _sure_ Winter was innocent and naïve. How could he not be when he walked and acted as if no one could ever hurt him? As if he had no fear of what others might do to him. He slept soundly on the couch, with his mouth wide open and in plain view of the entire House. He went wherever he liked, even to seven-year territory and other Houses common room, with no heed of trouble or personal safety. He was only a first year and when a seven-year threatened to curse him, he _laughed_.

Innocent to the point of stupidity, they thought.

But what was indisputable evidence of Winter's innocence was the fact that he was friends with Riddle. Who, but the most innocent of souls, would trust Tom Riddle? The same Tom Riddle that enjoyed creating havoc, destruction and mayhem with unprecedented enthusiasm. Tom Riddle that made fourth year boys cry with only his sharp, acidic tongue. That giggled when someone broke a bone and was filled with joy at the prospect of a bloody fight. The boy that seven-years gave a wide verge.

Tom Riddle had a good day when he could create chaos and confusion and blame it on someone else.

If sleeping like a baby on the lap of said boy was not an act of foolish,_ suicidal_ innocence nothing was.

Winter might be fast but if not for Riddle and Malfoy's protection he would have been killed within the first week. He was too nice and trusting to ever survive in Slytherin by himself. He talked to Hufflepuffs for crying out loud. Chatted with the Half-Giant about 'adorable' dragons. Smiled and made jokes with Gryffindors when he was in a particularly good mood and used the Ravenclaw common room almost as much as the Slytherin's.

He was generally well liked. Quiet with a cool, calm, collected, nothing-can-faze-me attitude, and when he cared for, which was admittedly seldom, he was funny and witty. He was a paradox of easy and familiar and distantly aloof.

But could beauty or occasional wit be enough to ensure both Riddle and Malfoy's fierce loyalty? Or was his angelic innocence misleading? The truly paranoid of the serpent's house said that he looked fragile and beautiful but that he was dangerous, worse than Riddle and Malfoy combined. But they were generally ignored. No one felt threatened by his big blue eyes, messy hair and small smile.

-0-

Breakfast was at full swing. Loud and chaotic as always but with less food variety than usual. Charles double-checked his mail. No, no letter from his parents. Charles seldom heard from his parents anymore, other than the odd letter telling him they loved him and were busy. Abigael and Penny were in a private boarding school and had no easy access to owls.

Thousands of Jewish children, from babies to teenagers came to Britain in the 'Kindertransport'. His family was founding efforts to accommodate those children in houses with food and supplies. The Yule celebration that was to be held in their manor turned from a gathering of family and friends to a fundraising event. Everything was now a fundraising event.

Charles understood his mother's involvement and passion. Annabelle saw that if things had been different, maybe her children would have been one of those children, separated from their family to never see them again.

Charles knew that their fate would have been much, much worse, but he was not mentioning that to his mother.

"Did a kitty die?" Tom asked with a sneer. Charles sneered right back. Prick. "Come on, I don't want to be late."

Charles sighed, picked up his satchel and left the breakfast table. They walked in thoughtful silence towards greenhouse 1.

-0-

Tom looked at the little plant he was replanting. Feisty little thing it was. Had tried to bite him a few times now. If not for his grade he would have killed it already.

Being in this class, on the ground, working with plants brought memories of gold hair and the smell of rain and loud chickens and dogs. Of screams and laughs and fights and stories about Elves.

Plants did not talk, not even those in the magical world, but they still told you everything that was wrong with them if you were willing to stop and _see_. See the signs of too much exposure to sun or water. Plants showed distress and need without ever having to say a word. Just like Charles. Just like him.

No one had ever stop to _see_ when they had been small. The teachers that met with them in Diagon Alley never stopped to wonder why they always came alone. Why Charles took care of them. Things had not changed much here at school. They were still as blind as ever. Charles was antisocial because he could not find common ground with other children.

Tom was cruel if he defended himself against slurs about his blood, his parents and his adopted family. Tom might use a little more force than necessary, but it persuaded others to stop trying to fight with someone they had no chance of winning against. It was for their own benefit. Tom enjoyed a good fight just as much as the next boy but he did not appreciate others insulting him, insinuating that Charles was an animal and that they didn't have a place in a magical school or in Slytherin.

They were different, the teachers whispered, strange children…brilliant, but strange.

In a way, it was no different than the orphanage. They were still different. Still misunderstood. Still ignored. Tom looked at the corner Charles had claimed as his own. It was a dark secluded corner that no one wanted. He was alone, replanting with much more care than the task required, concentrated on his work and not paying attention to anyone else.

Tom looked back at Professor McCain, a soft-spoken, caramel coloured lady that did not reach five feet. She was busy with the students up front, Ravenclaws that demanded all of her attention with their constant questions and chatter. Tom wondered if the professor had ever noticed that Charles had never said a word in her class or to her.

Or had she ever wondered why Susanne from Ravenclaw flinched every time someone made a sudden movement or talked too loud? Did she wonder why Flint was painfully shy, to the point were he did not look at anyone in the eye?

She, who was supposed to hear wordless cries of distress, did she _see_? Did she want to see?

Were all adults like this? Tom wondered. This blind.

In the end, for all their care and pretty words they were hardly different than Mrs Cole in their negligence. Frank was like that, but not. He ignored everything about Charles and Tom that he did not like. Simply pretended it was not there. But he saw everything else, just not what he didn't want to. Annabelle was a bit better, but she was the exception, not the rule.

Charles saw the world differently. Tom could mention from memory every name of every student in their year and a dozen facts about each of them and their family. Charles did not care about what he would call 'trivial and unimportant' details. Not many people liked the fact that their name and face was 'trivial and unimportant' to Charles.

The things that Charles saw and cared for were different.

A potion for the boy that was dying of vitamin deficiency that the school nurse had not spotted. A book and a potion for the five students that did not know how to read or write and the teachers had not noticed. A smile for the boy that was sexually abused by his uncle. A conversation with Flint. Small things, unnoticeable gestures. Charles was still regarded as antisocial because no one saw these things. Tom only saw them because he made a point to see Charles.

"Class is over." Charles announced, making Tom jump. He had not seen Charles approach him. "What has you daydreaming?"

"Nothing. Just thinking." Tom responded, picking up his monogramed soft leather book bag and walking out of the warm greenhouse to the chilly air with Charles. The group was a little in front of them, talking and laughing.

"About what?" Charles questioned.

"Seeing."

Charles nodded, as if he understood. And maybe he did.

-0-

Charles felt a wave of magic wash over him. A rather familiar wave of magic that touched his skin momentarily, giving Charles a slight chill, before running away, like a child with a secret he was eager to tell.

When the door opened Charles did not bother to look away from the breath-taking view he was admiring. It was obvious who was standing behind him, watching him. A hot cup of apple cinder warmed Charles' hands and belly from the cold, harsh winds and he was content to sit and stare.

Tom found Charles sitting on the edge of a window with his legs dangling over a wicked fall in the tallest tower of the castle. The door to the tower had been closed off because the tower was unstable and on the verge of collapse. It was this kind of behaviour that worried Annabelle to tears.

It was after dinner and there was a big thunderstorm. The rain was still far away but each rumble made the entire tower tremble and swing.

"Aren't you supposed to be in detention?" Tom asked, a little more sharply than he had intended.

Charles hummed and cleared a space for Tom. Tom looked over the edge and backed off, siting instead with his back to the wall and feet firmly placed on the ground.

"What happened?" Tom asked again. He did not like not knowing where Charles was. Charles looked back and smiled, as if he had read the aggravated thought.

"I was."

"And?" Tom asked with barely hidden annoyance.

Charles smiled and decided not to torture Tom further. God knows the boy can't handle suspense.

"You see we were cleaning his tools," Charles started merrily, like they were drinking tea in the parlour and not on top a rickety tower on a dark stormy night. "Bert has a lovely collection of shackles," Only Charles was on first name basis with the much-hated man. Not even the teachers called him Albert, much less 'Bert'.

"When he told me about his daughter. She's twenty and very sick at the moment. And because he's a squib and has a rather bad reputation the hospital has behaved somewhat poorly with her and her condition has worsened. I found that rather horrible, he's such a good man," Tom snorted in disbelief, "and I could sympathize with his plight so I offered to help. He let me off early to be able to tell his wife the good news. Told me to stay out of view and if I ever was assigned detention to just pass by his office sign a paper and stay in a secluded section of the castle."

"So, you bribed the janitor into letting you off detention for life." Tom did not sound disapproving, but impressed.

"No, Tom. I _helped_ a man in need."

Tom made an unbelieving sound, still smiled approvingly. Like a proud parent.

"His poor wife had been worried sick." Charles continued, "She sent homemade apple pie and hot apple cinder because she heard I missed dinner, want some?" Charles offered his warm cup of apple cinder to share. Tom saw the pie in a hidden corner, still untouched.

Tom took the ceramic cup and tasted it, "It's passable."

Charles made to get it back but Tom held it out of Charles reach. Charles smiled knowingly and used a spoon to eat the pie right out of the tray.

"What are those?" Tom asked, pointing at the collection of knives besides Charles. Annabelle would have freaked, Tom thought amusedly. Tom could almost hear her muttering about grey hairs and premature aging and little boys driving her to an early grave.

"Oh, Bert offered to let me have a look at his carving knives. Aren't they pretty?"

"For torture?" Tom looked at them curiously. Yes, they were good quality and with handcrafted designs of dragons on their handle.

"Don't be silly, Tom. For carving pumpkins. He has a rather bad reputation but it's mostly rumours."

"Mostly?" Tom asked warily, looking up from the knives.

Charles shrugged.

The rain reached them. First hesitant drops and them in steady sheets. The wind grew cold and the floor under them swayed in time with the wind. The floorboards creaked ominously. The wind seemed to howl in anger as it crashed with the rickety tower. A strong gush of wind messed Tom's perfectly made hair. Charles' hair was a bird's nest. He didn't seem worried about it. Charles's black robes were also pushed and pulled by the wind. Tom wondered if he was cold.

Tom passed the half full cup of warm cinder to Charles. Charles smiled in childish delight and passed the pie to Tom. They sat quietly at the edge of the unstable tower and watched the storm brew.

-0-

"Mr Winter, are you perhaps allergic to something?" The mediwitch asked, looking down at the results sheets she was holding.

Charles sneezed and flowers appeared all around the bed in the Hospital Wing he was using, "Cats," he rasped.

The mediwitch pursed her lips. They had close to six hundred students and each was permitted a toad, or an owl, or a cat. Most went for the owl, but there were close to a hundred cats in the castle from students who preferred to use school owls.

"You have the common wizard cold, Mr Winter. Usually, with your type of background," a polite way of mentioning his veela background, "this would not happen but the high amount of cats in the castle has made you vulnerable. Drink this."

It had rained for a week straight. He was not the only one who had cached the flu. The potion had been made in advance by the dozen for the flu season.

"No." It sounded more like _nouw_. "No potions," he clarified.

"Mr Winter," she said sternly, pudgy hands on her wide hips, "You cannot be excused for classes unless you are under my care and while under my care you have to drink the potions I give you." Her stare softened at the miserable sight the boy made, "It is only one potion and then you'll be right as rain. I promise."

Charles glared. With all the dignity of someone who has puffy eyes and a red, dripping nose, got up from the white hospital bed, hobbled a bit, and made out for the door.

"In all my years-" she muttered, and then more loudly, "Mr Winter, why are you refusing treatment?"

"Weak," Charles managed to say. His throat felt swollen and itchy.

"It is not weak to drink potions Mr Winter. I don't know were you got that ludicrous idea."

Charles glared at her in exasperation. "Body dependency on potions," he tried to explain. It was a rather long explanation and his mind did not feel up to the challenge of thinking anything more complicated that one-word answers. His brain felt like it was made of snot. His nose seemed to be charmed with a never-ending snot spell.

"Well…yes, each time you contract the flu you'll have to drink the potions but they'll make you feel perfectly fine afterwards."

Charles shook his head. His body will gain immunity to the flu the good old fashion way. Battling it out. A week feeling out of sorts was better than a life dependency on potions and a weak immune system.

"Well then. You are not excused from class, go to your first period." She thought she was teaching him a lesson and that by lunch he'd be begging her to drown him in potions.

_You don't know me lady. It's just a cold…I have face worse enemies._

-0-

"Achuu!" The entire half of the class gained blue-green hair.

"_Kill me_," he begged Tom.

Charles had the green quilted blanket of his bed on top of him making his face the only visible portion of his body. His head was killing him, his body felt like one big bruise, he had nausea, felt too cold and too hot and his magic kept getting out of control. Under the wrapped blanket, Charles had at least five sweaters on top of his uniform and still felt cold.

"I might consider it," Tom responded crossly. "If you weren't such a bull-headed-"

"Oh stuff it." Charles interrupted nasally. Tom glared fiercely for the interruption. "If you aren't going to kill me pass me the paper." Tom scowled but passed the paper, not wanting a repeat of Charles using his shoulder to clean his nose. Charles blew his nose noisily. A few Ravenclaws looked back to glare.

The teacher scowled and tried to regained control of the class again. Sixty students were enough of a hassle on a good day but a sick student disturbing the class on top of that had the teacher considering resigning.

The teacher put to rights the students and the class continued. Charles started shivering, his lips gaining a blue tint.

"Oh for the love of–" Tom muttered softly in annoyance. "Sleep," Tom ordered softly, passing a hand on Charles' forehead with the excuse of cheeking his temperature. Charles was too weak to fight the order –that was his excuse anyway– and fell into blessed unconsciousness. Charles was asleep for the rest of the class. Snoring loudly because of his congested nose forced him to breath through his mouth and drooling on Tom's shoulder while Tom carded his hands into Charles' sweaty hair, every few minutes cheeking his fever.

By lunch Charles felt much better, having slept through all of his morning's classes. And only occasionally losing control of his magic.

"We can force feed him the potions." One of the professors offered, slyly watching the sick student.

"Sneak them in his soup." Another suggested, rapidly agreeing with the plan.

"We cannot force a student to receive medical attention if the student _and the family_ is unwilling." The mediwitch said with a frown.

"The family is unwilling?"

"Yes, I owled and they responded that they were going to respect the wishes of their son when it comes to medical treatment."

"How horrible of them. Poor child."

"Poor us." His skin was still glittering and even his saliva sparkled. Professor Dumbledore had made it worse by commenting he looked better. Livelier, he had said.

"But they are a squib and a veela, _technically_ we don't have to consult them about health matters of a wizard in our care."

"I'm not taking the chance with this family, they are too well known." The mediwitch said.

"And their lawyers haver destroyed a few Healers." Someone else finished for her.

"The teachers are conspiring against you," Tom mentioned casually over his soup. If it could be called a soup, it was light coloured and only had a few sad vegetables swimming about.

"Let them try." Charles sniffed. Only a small part of his arm was outside the protection of the warmth to awkwardly hold the spoon.

"You aren't afraid of them using the House Elves to 'accidentally' drug you?"

Charles smile was rather terrifying. "Don't worry I have a few friends with the Elves."

"How did you manage that?" Tom wondered.

"Officially? By being nice, respectful and friendly with the often-ignored creatures that crave love and attention." Charles sneezed and his soup turned to stone. He looked crestfallen.

Tom scrunched his face in disgust at the idea of being 'friends' with the disgusting creatures. "Truthfully?" Tom asked, proposing his own soup in exchange for the answer. Charles looked greedily at the offered soup.

Charles smiled and leaned forward to whisper, "Elf mushrooms." Tom's eyes widened and he stared unbelieving at Charles before throwing his head back and laughing. Elf mushrooms were highly addictive drug to Elves that caused hallucinogenic effects. The little buggers went crazy for them. Harmless, but it made them useless for a few hours, which of course was the reason they were banned.

"You are so evil," he sounded proud. Tom passed his soup with a smile. It was worth it. Charles smiled and started on Tom's soup.

Tom 'forgot' to mention that in the Rules there was something about drug trade. Rule #31 that prohibited any and all selling, trade or use of drugs for any other reason than healing and only in emergencies when a qualified Healer was not found. Why would Annabelle think to include _that_ in the rules she made for the eleven year olds she was sending to a private school, Tom would never know, but he was now realizing that maybe she knew her son better than he gave her credit for or just imagined the worse possible scenario and made contingency plans.

Dinner that night was a morose affair with very little talk and even less food. Everyone was very sympathetic of Charles' illness and urged him to drink the potion. Whether for Charles benefit or their own Tom was not sure.

-0-

"No, Tom. I don't want to move." Charles moaned from under the covers.

Charles was in his bed looking and feeling miserable. All of Room 1 sheets were in one big pile on his bed and spilling out on the floor. Charles was burrowed under the covers so that only a tuff of black hair was visible.

Tom was relentless in trying to make him leave his fortress.

"I just need you to stay quiet and look pretty," Tom snapped, his limited patience breaking with Charles insistence on being difficult. Charles' glare actually made him cringe a little so he amended, slightly, "Look, people see me more approachable when you are around. That maybe I'm not a cold-hearted bastard that takes joy in others' pain–"

"But you _are_ a cold-hearted bastard who takes joy in others' pain."

Tom looked tempted to hit him, hard, but resisted with, in his opinion, admirable self-control. "They see me being friends with you and believe I really am a softy, deep down. You being sick and me taking care of you in a public manner will only solidify that I am a good person. _Come on_ Charles, Professor Dumbledore has been bothering me about the books I've been checking out of the library and he always goes on and on about love, care and friendship."

Charles looked at him with narrow eyes. "I'm sick. And you want to take advantage of that because it will _make you look good_. How about –I don't know– actually trying to be a better person. You can start by stop being a selfish prat and leaving me the hell alone," Charles spat, his head throbbing with the noise.

Charles was not surprised that Tom wanted to use him as a toy in his game of seduction.

Tom wanted the school to bow down to him, to declare him supreme ruler, to have them falling over themselves to do his binding and he had just figured out that being 'nice' had more benefits than being outright cruel. That did not mean Charles would let Tom use him as an object he owned.

_In theory_, Charles wholeheartedly supported the idea that being nice was better and often 'suggested' (forced) Tom into being nicer. _But in practice_, his stomach could not stand seeing Tom be nice.

Tom was not nice.

It was not him. And to have him acting so out-of-character, –pretending to be shy and modest, apologizing, being helpful– it gave Charles the chills. It was simply not natural. Somehow scarier. There was also a part of him that felt…_sad_ that Tom had to hide his true self under a pleasant mask. That felt pity that the majority wouldn't understand Tom, wouldn't accept him. That they would see Tom as evil and incapable of a good deed.

Tom was not evil…just darker than the rest.

"You are dehydrated," Tom commented conversationally. Charles dragged the blankets around him, rolled and ignored Tom. He felled into an uneasy slumber in seconds.

Charles night table was full of 'get well' presents. Useless crap in Tom's opinion. He used a finger to lift a particularly horrible specimen of a stuffed animal with excess of perfume that was nauseating. It was _smiling_. Disgusting. But it burned beautifully though, leaving only ashes on the floor.

Charles felt arms turning him and groaned. He refused to open his eyes. Childish. But maybe if he didn't have to see him he wouldn't be there. Cold glass touched his lips and he opened his mouth. In that moment he realized how thirsty he was. With foolish trust he drank the offered water. He felt much better afterwards.

"Now get up." Tom's voice was soft now, not exactly pleading, not really apologetic, but maybe slightly sympathetic.

There's the price. No good deed came for free, not when Tom was involved.

"Please."

Oh how Charles hated hearing that word. Just as much as Tom hated uttering it.

Maybe it was the fact that Tom was the only person that entertained Charles on a daily basis with some intelligent conversation, or that Tom has helped him in the past when he had needed the most, or maybe he was just too sick to put up much of a fight.

Either way the end result was the same.

Charles dragged a green sweater over his clammy skin, glaring at Tom all the while, pulled up the black trousers he had left on the floor a few hours ago, pushed his white cotton socks clad feet into the black satin slippers at the foot of his bed and stood up. His head felt like it was filled with cotton. He looked miserable and sick with dark circles under his red eyes and pale skin.

Tom tried not to look too smug about his victory.

For the next few hours Charles was paraded around the school –socks, slippers, bed hair, red nose, coughing chest and all– while Tom played the part of doting adoptive brother and caring friend. They were in the Great Hall in 'study hour' and Charles was subjected to the worst kind of torture known to mankind –girls.

His head was pounding with the high-pitched squealing and giggling of the obnoxious _too loud_ girls. At least he was fed soup, offered water and was able to keep his blanket around his shoulders. Not that anyone could take it away from him if they tried.

Tom was not the one that kept him in place but fatigue. He was sure he would not make it halfway back to bed without collapsing and he did not want to find out what the Slytherins could do to him in this weakened state before he could defend himself.

Charles saw Abraxas enter the room and saw freedom. He swore his eyes watered with emotion. He almost skipped towards the older boy with fevered joy. Actual fever, mind you. And stuck to the taller frame like a vampire to an unlimited supply of magical blood.

The hate filled glare Abraxas sent Tom promised a world full of pain.

Abraxas wrapped a comforting arm around Charles' shoulders and escorted Charles back to the Slytherin common room. And in what was the first show of true care that night, Tom let them go.

"Do you think that cats taste like chicken?" Tom heard Charles say before the double doors of the Great Hall closed behind the pair.

-0-

Charles opened his eyes to blackness. Something had woken him but he wasn't sure what. After a moment without hearing anything he closed his eyes and tried to go back sleep. There it was again. A rustle, this time closer, louder. A slight dip on his mattress.

"Go away." Charles whispered. He turned away from the intruder and inched away. He still felt the warmth of a body near him and the dip in the bed.

"I don't like you very much right now." Charles told the intruder with unusual sincerity. He blamed the fever.

"I know." Tom whispered. A long moment passed, "I'm sorry," he said with difficulty.

"You always are." Charles told him in a flat whisper, staring blankly at the blackness. A sigh, a rustle of sheets and feet padding on the rugs marked Tom's depart.

-0-

Charles was sick for four days. He woke up the fifth day feeling tired but otherwise fine. He arrived at breakfast relatively early, for him anyway, and sat in his usual place. Tom was already there. An omelette with cheese and bacon, a mug of coffee and a mountain of toast appeared in front of him. His stomach reeled at the greasy foods. Even so, with a nod at Tom, he picked his fork and started eating.

Charles couldn't stay mad at Tom for long and it wouldn't do to reject every attempt Tom made to apologize.

By the time the owls arrived he was feeling almost normal. Until he started reading his mail. And learned about the mass panic his sickness and refusal to receive medical treatment had created in the Magical World. Charles assumed someone had intercepted the owl the Mediwitch had sent his parents and thus learned he was refusing to be healed. It was not public knowledge, only the hundred or so that had signed the treaty knew.

The letter from the Goblins he worked with was particularly scathing and included five feet of parchment about the consequences of his death on the economy, complete with graphs, charts and insults to his intelligence. They also saw fit to inform him that his will has not been updated in four years. The Goblins of the South were particularly vicious and creative in their insults. They called for a meeting and that 'if he knew what was good for him' he would attend.

Charles felt touched about their care in his health. All this fluff was killing him.

He had to sort thru dozens of letters and was more than grateful for the fact that the letters that did not fulfilled certain criteria –like the sender being someone in a high position or not part of the hundred that were included in the treaty– got redirected to one of his personal secretaries –that were bound by magic to be loyal and truthful to him and could not under any circumstance betray him. Because otherwise he would have been buried under parchment.

It was only when he read the letter from the Wizard Emperor of China asking for a meeting that he understood how many people, from around the world, were curious about him. Well, about the wizard that represented every wizard in the world in the peace treaties. There were also letters from Japan, Australia, India and US.

Overwhelmed, he put the letters aside and picked up the newspapers he had recollected over the week but had not looked. Tom called his name to get his attention but Charles held a hand in the universal sign of 'wait one moment' and continued his perusal of the news.

He found articles, first page articles, in every newspaper from all around the world talking about the now public treaties. Well, the partially public treaty since the exact nature of treaty was not public matter.

The opinion varied. From angry articles, demanding the name of the wizard who represented them and for that wizard to be publicly scrutinized and if found wanting, replaced. Some groups were uniting to force an open election to choose the wizard that they wanted to represent them. Their plan was to hold an election in each country and then when each country had one candidate a worldwide election.

They even had the fancy spells worked out that would permit a fair election. The group of wizards had everything planned out it seemed, already cocky in their assurance that it will happen, without ever consulting the Vampires, the Werewolves, the Goblins or the mer-people about what they thought in the matter. Great way to start. No wonder it had never worked out before.

There were also articles that celebrated the birth of a new era of peace and union in the magical world and were overly flattering. His decision to let the five wizards die was dissected, criticized and applauded. His inclusion of the Sea and Lake merpeople were similarly analysed.

The only common tread was that everyone was curious. They wanted to know who represented the Wizards, what his motives were, how has this seemingly impossible feat had been managed and what will happen next. There were lists about possible candidates. Rich, powerful, influential, _adult_ witches and wizards from all around the world were listed. They had no reason to include him or his family.

One thing was certain: everyone's eyes were on him. He wanted to vomit. He knew this day would eventually arrive – he had been lucky it had stayed a secret for the first couple of years– but it still did not make it any easier. He hoped his identity would not be revealed until he was at least, at the very, very, least, seventeen.

Underage, with magic-less parents…If he were to be discovered by the wizards he had no illusions of what would happen. Images of the nightmare flashed through him mind.

They would decide his parents were not fit to take care of him, say that he needed Wizards as parents, that could 'guide' him in the 'right path' and teach him to manage his power 'the proper way'. The British Ministry would get him and maybe blackmail him using his family to get him to pass laws.

Charles felt the sinking cold feeling of dread.

"Charles? Charles?" A hand passed in front of his face.

"What-? Yeah, yeah. I'm alright." Charles mumbled, his eyes still glassy and unseeing. Charles shook his head to disperse the images. That cannot happen. He opened a letter from the Vampire Clan Leviathan was part of, obvious in their blood red coloured envelop, fancy writing and the wax symbol of death that sealed it. A literal death for anyone that should open it other than him.

The letter was worrying in the fact that they threatened to send a group of Healers to the school if he continued to deny medical treatment. Apparently the political climate was too unstable for him to die.

Without his power to back it up the treaties they will fall.

Unsaid, but clear, in all the letters from those who knew he was sick was the uncertainty of who would control Charles' technology should he die and would said person be as willing to maintain peace. The possibility of a weapon of mass destruction that could find them anywhere in the world and that they had no way of protecting themselves against falling into the hands of someone else –an unknown entity, someone who they couldn't predict and wouldn't be tied by the treaties– was terrifying.

Charles Winter was a danger but he was a _known_ danger. He had been willing to let the assassination and capture attempts go unpunished and signed a contract that ensured peace. With that kind of power he could have easily demanded surrender and taken over their world, destroying their communities and traditions in the process. He had instead let them keep their autonomy and independence. But after his death another could take the mantle and not be as kind.

They still did not know if Charles Winter was the human child he was pretending to be or something else. But the fact that he had been sick…_could get sick_ and potentially die was something they did not want to consider. What if there are others like him, human-but-not? What if he was their leader? What if 'they' had not attacked only because their Leader did not want to, but after his death they will decide to attack? He had said he had his own war to attend, a war with whom? Someone more powerful? Someone less inclined to let them have their autonomy? There were too many questions and not enough answers but the fact of the matter was that Charles Winter could not die.

The risk was too high.

Charles could hardly believe it. All of this tumult because he had the _flu_. He hated politics. The bell rang and he got up. The world, peace, war and politicians will have to wait; he had class and a quiz he had not studied for.

* * *

><p><strong>Review! I had a lot of trouble with this chapter so I would LOVE to know what you thought of it: Good, bad, and everything in between. Emotions, impressions, predictions, mistakes (thank you all that reviewed to tell me I had used squib instead of squid) I have a long car trip so I'll enjoy the distraction. <strong>

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	36. Chapter 36: Spy and Werewolf

**Chapter 36: Spy and Werewolf**

It was the week before Halloween. And in an unprecedented move, students of all ages were allowed to go to Hogsmeade for the day. The staff had decided that a Hogsmeade day was just what the students needed.

The entire staff had been working to the point of exhaustion to keep the atmosphere light and playful for the children. Group games were added, more Quidditch games were scheduled and chess competitions were held every Friday. Even a pantomime club was created.

Halloween created the perfect excuse to decorate the entire castle with silly, smiling pumpkin faces and mischievous bats.

The added effort worked well for the younger years. But it was not until three weeks ago, when the Hogsmeade trip was announced, that the atmosphere truly lightened and the predominant topic of conversation shifted from war to the much-anticipated Hogsmeade day.

The town was stone-throw away but the event had the teachers in a constant state of panic. Half the staff had the day off while the remaining half had to watch the students. It was a break from the castle for both the students and the teachers.

Tom had woken Charles up at five in the morning –_Five_– to be able to use the showers without the usual crowd. Their fight had woken up all the occupants in Room 1.

"With whom are you going to Hogsmeade?" Charles asked Tom on their way out of their rooms. Other than the slight chill in his tone, it was asked normally. The fake wall opened and they walked out of the common room with the rest of their year-mates. Room 1 occupants looked red-eyed, rumpled and annoyed.

Charles and Tom were dressed warmly for the October weather. Charles had a cream cardigan with elbow patches, knitted cap and brown trousers with braces. Not one thing was in Hogwarts colours.

Tom was dressed in the more accepted wizard robe, tailored and one of a kind. Not unlike what Malfoy was wearing. Except for a few others, everyone else was in their black Hogwarts uniform and school scarf.

"With our roommates. You?" Tom asked in exchange, rightly assuming that if Charles was asking it was because he was not planning to stick around and find out.

Charles shrugged.

"Really, Charles you should be branching out more. It's our first Hogsmeade trip."

Charles looked at Tom incredulously. "You _sabotage_ my every attempt at making a friend. Gleefully, I might add."

Tom frowned. "Not a _friend_." He glared at Charles for good measure, "I don't want you having other friends but more _contacts_. Why in the world would you _want_ to have another friend?" he demanded, "You have _me_. You don't _need_ anybody else."

Charles looked at Tom flatly.

"You have issues." Charles replied simply, softly, mostly to himself. Tom walked ahead and ignored the comment.

Tom held him too tightly, to the exclusion of everyone else. It worried Charles to think that Tom might never let someone else in.

"Don't forget to pick out something for Abraxas' birthday."

"Yeah, yeah." Tom said, not really caring about Abraxas' birthday. _Thestral crap on his way back was suitable gift for that poncy git. _

As if he heard the uncharitable thought, Charles said, "A gift, Tom. Not trash you find on the street."

Tom scowled at Charles' profile. Charles hadn't even been looking at him,_ how does he do that? _Tom wondered, not for the first time_._

Charles looked sideways to Tom, rolled his eyes and said, "You are fairly predictable." The comment won Charles a shove. Charles rubbed his bruised shoulder. He should have left Tom believing in some higher art of magic. Less painful that way.

Anyone who might know Tom for any length of time would know that he was a horrible gift-giver. Socks –normal, everyday, grey socks– if he considered you tolerable. Quills –the average, on-sale kind– if he liked you. And trash for everyone else.

"lo, Winter."

Charles looked around to see who was calling him.

He stopped walking and let Tom continue forward to catch up with their roommates while he waited for the Gryffindor that was walking towards him in long, earth-eating, steps. The students hurried out of the way.

"Hagrid," Charles greeted with a soft, small smile. Hagrid's answering grin was big and happy with more than a little relief. The same relief Hagrid always showed when someone consistently treats him with decency.

Hogwart's students were fickle creatures. One day they loved him like a big brother, stuffed bear, protector of sorts and the next he was a monster that should not have been allowed in the castle. More often than not, the half-Giant was treated as prop in their games instead of as a friend. Today the students were giving Hagrid a wide margin of space and shifty glances.

It made Hagrid self-conscious but Charles felt better without everyone touching him, pushing him and breathing down his neck.

They passed the outer castle doors and continued to the crisp, fresh air of the morning. Charles hid his hands in his pockets and ducked his head against the cold wind. Hagrid looked a little less tense in the outside air and soaked up on the morning rays.

"How yeh bein?" Hagrid asked in his booming voice.

Charles was belt-level with the Half-Giant and always had to look up, up, up, to see Hagrid's face. Charles smiled and responded that he has been 'good'. Bored, but otherwise healthy.

He liked Hagrid's company. Hagrid expected nothing from him, wanted nothing from him. And was often too grateful for the friendship to demand more than what Charles was willing to give.

Hagrid excitedly told him about a newly discovered pocketsize dragon.

The sea of students opened up and right there in front of them was Tom and his group of friends. Charles might be called paranoid or self-centred, or both, but he suspected it was not a casual coincidence that Tom was right in front of him.

Hagrid tensed besides him. The Slytherins, as a rule, were Hagrid's main tormentors. And the first years had more of an opportunity to attack him since they shared class. Tom never actively took part in the torment, but he never stopped it either. If Hagrid noticed that since he and Charles started talking the abuse grew by ten, he was nice enough not to mention it.

"How can yeh stand him?" Hagrid asked, looking at Tom with narrowed eyes.

"It's hard to explain."

"Yeh pretty heads' have to stick together, eh?"

Sometimes, Hagrid's insecurity about his own physical appearance manifested as barbs at Charles' appearance. Usually he attacked himself with self-deprecating comments and overly shy behaviour. It was something about Hagrid's personality that Charles hated, but no one was perfectly nice all the time.

"He has his redeeming qualities." Charles answered with a frown at Hagrid for the comment.

Hagrid snorted in obvious disbelief. "Are yeh saying he's a saint?"

"No. But neither I'm I."

"Yeh are a good." Hagrid said with a decisive nod. "That Riddle is evil. I can feel it in me bones. An I think he's bin trickin yeh."

Hagrid looked pointedly at Charles covered wrist. Charles did not respond and tugged at his sleeve. He did not want to explain his relationship with Tom. Or the fact that he had Tom's name inside his wrist in Tom's handwriting.

It was no ones business.

And even in the unlikely chance he wanted to, he would not know where to begin. How could he begin to explain that three little letters were his only assurance that he was in fact living and not trapped in some fantasy? That he felt panic each time he couldn't see them and had to constantly check they were there.

Or explain Tom?

The silence grew uncomfortable and Charles was glad when Hagrid left with a group of Gryffindors. He kept walking alone towards the medieval village. The walk was not long and he was soon there.

The students that had chosen to travel in carriages were already there. Carriages and groups of walking students kept arriving each minute. Charles lost Tom in the sea of students.

There were no more than twenty stores. Only one place for decent food and a shabby pub. For six hundred students. He shook his head. Stupidity at its finest.

The sun was brilliant and the students eagerly made their way from one store to another.

Charles walked aimlessly, not really up to the challenge of pushing his way into a store even if he did need some supplies. When he was sure there were no chaperones watching him, he left the crowded area and moved to a more isolated area, the residential street.

The rows of houses were in the same medieval style. It was like the town was stuck in time. Never moving forwards, never changing.

He felt someone watching him and turned around until he found the perpetrator. Dark reflective eyes watched him from afar. The vampire was in plain view and no one was panicking. Charles assumed he was using magic to mask his presence.

Charles smiled and started walking away from the town. When he reached a clearing in the woods he stopped and waited.

"My persistent stalker," Charles greeted happily.

"My errant pet," Leviathan greeted back, with equal, if not more, enthusiasm.

"Leviathan, what are you doing here?" Charles questioned, ignoring the 'pet' comment. It would be a rainy day in the fiery pits of Hell before he was Leviathan's pet.

"I'm here to spy on you. I have my spy clothes and everything," Leviathan said, pointing out his head to toe black ensemble. Black _glittery_ shirt, with a black _velvet_ jacket, black _sparkling_ top hat and black _satin_ trousers on a clear, blue, sunny day. He was everything but covert.

"I see…" Charles said seriously, biting his lip to supress the smile that was begging to escape. "And how's that going for you?" he questioned.

"Well I have determined that yellow is not really your colour. It makes you look sick. You should really stick to cool colours like blues and greens. Or neutrals like white, black and grey."

He was not going to debate if his cardigan was more cream-coloured than yellow. If Leviathan said it was yellow, it was yellow. The last time he argued colours with Leviathan he ended up with a massive headache. And in the end he had to admit that coral was _not _pink and that, yes, he was an uncouth, barbarian for not knowing the difference.

Charles nodded solemnly, and looked at Leviathan up and down. "Next time you might want to go with a wig. Your long brown hair is too conspicuous."

"I knew I was forgetting something," Leviathan sighed dramatically, but his lips twitched upward.

"So you are my own personal spy, I feel special."

"Yeah, they decided to take advantage of the whole 'you not killing me thing' and sent me to find out if you were still alive." As he talked, Leviathan shielded his eyes from the sun with one glove covered hand.

"They are still giving you a hard time?"

"Not so much actually," Leviathan smiled wickedly at Charles, "I followed your advice."

Charles looked at Leviathan blankly, as far as he knew he hadn't given Leviathan any advice.

"Well, you _implied_ I had to be stronger. And I'm doing that. It mostly brings me more trouble than being a good, submissive vampire but they are taking me more seriously. At least, I think so. I have been in the hospital too many times to properly notice but I'm sure they are taking me seriously now."

Charles felt a stab of worry for his –friend? Spy? Co-worker…? Well, his favourite vampire in any case. Leviathan was not a fighter.

"I decided that I preferred to be despised and shunned for who I am –fabulous– than be popular and having to live a lie. The world would be such a dull place without me. I am doing a public service really. They just don't know it yet."

"That sounded almost wise."

Somewhere in that egocentric speech was _something_ wise, Charles was almost sure of it. Something about being yourself, even if you were a narcissistic, gay vampire that abhorred violence living in a highly intolerant, brutally violent, male-dominated, vampire community. In other words: suicidal. But brave and commendable.

"I think seventeen looks good on you," Charles complemented.

Leviathan playfully punched Charles on the arm. Charles rubbed the spot, and mentally bemoaned the huge black mark that was going to appear. Leviathan often forgot he was physically stronger. In his mind Charles was omnipotent.

"So. You are alive and healthy. Any deep dark secret you want to share?" There was a hopeful hint to his voice.

Charles scratched his head, "No. No secret. I'm rather boring and dull. Can't imagine why anyone would want to spy on me."

Leviathan snorted in disbelief. They kept walking aimlessly. Charles held the silence. He knew that Leviathan would speak to fill the void. The teen was horrible at keeping secrets or gossip to himself.

Now at seventeen and Charles eleven, the age difference was painfully obvious. Leviathan was almost a man while Charles had not entered puberty. The height difference alone was ridiculous. When they had met for the first time he had been eight and Leviathan fourteen, then the age difference had not been as noticeable.

"They took my plant." Leviathan commented sadly. He must have sensed Charles' confusion because he explained without having to be asked. The benefits of talking to an Empath. "The day after my birthday, they took the plant you gifted me to test it."

"Why are you telling me this now?" Charles questioned with a frown. Leviathan's sixteen birthday had been more than a year ago.

"Let me explain the whole story. They tested it for magic, after not finding any magic, they started trying to find a hidden message. They found the name of the plant and the properties of that specific plant, and then the general connotations of gifting a plant. They looked in history to see if you were alluding a certain event or time period."

"Even after all this time they are still trying to find a hidden meaning, convinced that it will give them a clue as to your intentions. I'm obligated to trick the truth out of you in some subtle but brilliant way."

Leviathan looked at him expectantly.

Charles kept his face blank, but not without effort.

The vampires were gave Charles _way_ too much credit. A cat ate a bird, a natural disaster occurred in the pacific, an old lady died of a heart attack and Charles Winter was somehow responsible. It made his image larger than life.

Charles had come to accept this even embrace it. Vampires were the worst gossipmongers, with too much time on their hands and little to keep them occupied. Charles has heard he is a fourteen feet monster with three tails _pretending_ to be a cute little boy to lure Vampires in and eat them. It made the truth hard to discern for others.

"Tell them I said: The polka dancing chicken flies in a green, peachy horizon, like the black and white dragon that scowls gently." Charles nodded solemnly, as if satisfied, "That should clear the matter up nicely."

Leviathan sighed, looked at the sky, and tried to hide his twitching lips. He looked at Charles seriously. "I didn't want to believe it before, but you are truly evil. They are going to be climbing walls trying to figure that out."

Charles shrugged, unconcerned. Charles checked his silver pocket watch.

"It's getting late. I have to go now, Leviathan."

"My instructions are to capture you and bring you back to headquarters at the first chance I get."

Charles scratched the back of his neck in contemplation. "I have a few errands for today. You can either accompany while I do them or meet me here say… at two?"

"I'll play good little spy and accompany you. Can we stop for breakfast though? The blood pastries from last time gave me wet dreams."

"Yeah, sure."

"And blood orange rooibos tea…" Leviathan kept mumbling with a dreamy expression.

"I have to meet with the Goblins first though." Charles held out his hand for Leviathan and Leviathan gingerly put his glove-clad hand on top of his. With a thought, and a lot of magic, they arrived at a room inside the Goblin bank in Diagon Alley.

"Come on. We have to leave this room." Charles said and hurried to the door.

"Why?" Leviathan asked as he followed Charles at a more sedate pace.

Charles grabbed Leviathan and hauled him out the door and closed it with a bang. A moment later the door disappeared.

"That's why. Keep close. If I say duck, duck. Don't question it."

"Why?" Leviathan asked again with a little more fear.

"According to the Goblins, the privilege of appearing directly inside the bank was too much of a risk and they had to take 'appropriate' precautions. They also like to remind me that they are a warrior race and that I must prove myself a warrior before they can accept me, making this all seem like one big trial or some big honour they are bestowing on me. I think that they are sadistic, nasty little trolls that love to make it difficult for me. But I may be biased and bitter."

-0-

"Aaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!"

"Leviathan is over." Charles replied wearily.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh! I'm going to dieeeeeeee."

They were in a perfectly normal room. The door they had entered had already closed and disappeared. Five minutes ago.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!"

"Leviathan, stop screaming."

Charles rubbed his temples. He was contemplating punching Leviathan to get him to shut up. Five full minutes later Leviathan stopped screaming only to start mumbling incoherently.

"Dragons, dragons…and the fire storm…knives everywhere…Oh my god, _my shoes!_ My hand-made Italian shoes. Ruined. By Dragons. Bloody fire breathing dragons." A rather hysterical laugh came out of Leviathan's mouth. A moment later, "Did you see the dragon?"

"It was hard not to."

"It was a bloody dragon. Huge. And then the floor disappeared."

"Yes. You screamed. All the way down." Charles' ears might never recover from the abuse.

"Still alive I see." The Goblin that guarded the outer door said with a nasty sneer.

"Always the disappointment."

"Who is that?" The Goblin demanded sharply. The goblin pointed his sharp spear at the vampire. "Did you bring a vampire _here_?" he spat.

Leviathan held his hands up in surrender –even before the goblin had pointed the spear.

"Relax, Leviathan is a friend." Charles said soothingly, placing a hand on top of Leviathan's shoulder. Leviathan hid behind Charles, which was ridiculous when one considered that Leviathan was twice Charles' size. And a vampire. Supposedly.

"A friend?" he spat like a curse. "You have a _vampire friend_?" The Goblin seemed deeply worried but Charles had no idea why. The goblin left the room as fast as his small legs could carry him.

"Come on, I have some spare clothes in my locker and there's a bathroom we can use to clean up," Charles said.

The Goblins ate bile each time they were reminded that Charles had a locker and a bathroom –they built one for him because they were too disgusted at using the same facilities as a human.

Charles looked at Leviathan up and down; the teen was covered in dirt. Charles shook his head in exasperation. He had said 'duck' not 'dig out a hole and hide'.

He figured this would make a funny story some day. In the far, _far_ future. He was too pissed off right now to find hilarity in the situation. His ears were ringing, probably damaged beyond repair, and he hadn't forgiven Leviathan for using him as a human shield –he was not fire proof damn it! Stupid vampire.

Charles quickly led the vampire to the changing rooms, took out clothes and soap from his locker and went to the only shower, leaving a still shell-shocked Leviathan outside to wait for him. Charles' shower lasted three minutes and he was out in five. He told Leviathan that he would be in a meeting in the room next to this one and left in a huff.

Leviathan left the showers an hour later feeling much better. Strangely the clothes Charles had left him were adult size and of good quality. They were a little loose but preferable than his dirty torn clothes.

Leviathan sat on a chair outside the door he felt Charles in to wait. He could hear shouting coming from the room.

-0-

"Is it true that you have a Vampire Friend?" The Head Goblin of the investment department asked Charles rather pointedly. Charles blinked in confusion from the sudden change in topics.

"Well, yes, I guess it is true." Sort of. Kind of. Maybe. Possibly. Not so much right now, though.

"Why not a Goblin Friend? You met us first after all…"

Charles frowned. "I don't think it works like that."

"We could be friends. After all we have been working together for years." The five goblins that were in the table smiled, in what they thought, a friendly manner. They looked to be in pain.

"Please, stop smiling," Charles begged with wide, scared eyes. Goblins had teeth like a goliath tigerfish. It was a scary sight. Charles looked at the door, a moment away from bolting.

The Goblins stopped smiling with almost a relieved sigh.

"Mr Winter, I'm not sure if you are aware but having a Vampire Friend has political connotations'. For one, you might feel inclined to favour the Vampires on a deal. Your neutrality cannot be assured. You gave the Werewolves permission to fight in this war, yet you now tell us that it is not a profitable business to invest in the Wizard Leader. Which is it? Are you sending the wolves to die or backstabbing the Goblin Nation?"

Charles tiredly rubbed his face. He _hated_ politics.

"Werewolves are tightly involved with Wizards. It has always been so. I will not take away their right to fight for what they believe. My job with the Goblins is to advice on profitable business. The werewolves did not ask nor want my opinion. My opinion is that the war will be short lived and the Dark Lord will be on the losing side. There is no point in backing up the loser. We, on the other hand, can profit with war merchandise and later, with rebuilding teams."

"There is also the matter you are holding a Yule party for the Wizards. Should we worry about the fact that not one non-human has been invited? A lot of people are very offended and might not take too kindly to you in the future for this slight."

Charles rubbed his temples. "It is not _my_ Yule party. It is a charity event of my mother's."

"You might create chaos in the Magical World if they believe you are conspiring with the Wizards."

"It might look a _little_ suspicious to have the leaders of the Magical World in a simple charity event in the humble home of a pair of squibs." Charles spat, tired of everyone constantly on his back for every little thing.

A little after that Charles left the room. He had an angry headache and a fervent wish to send the whole magical community to hell.

Leviathan was waiting for him outside the door. Mercifully more calm. Charles wasn't sure he could deal with more screaming. Leviathan had been left unattended. The Goblins were probably hoping for Leviathan to wander off and get caught in one of the many traps inside the bank.

Charles walked back to the bathroom, took out a bag he had in his locker and offered Leviathan a hand. Leviathan looked at the hand warily.

"No more dragons right?" Leviathan asked with a nervous chuckle and shifty eyes.

Charles, against his will, smiled. "No. No more dragons."

"Breakfast?" Leviathan asked hopefully. Charles nodded with a small smile.

-0-

After a two-hour long breakfast in which they gorged themselves of every type of breakfast item on the menu Charles let Leviathan 'capture' him.

"You didn't mention it was going to be an ambush." Charles remarked.

"You wouldn't have come if you knew."

They where in Neutral Grounds. After the Peace Accords certain places where denominated Neutral Grounds for the purpose of solving problems without conflict. This one in particular Charles was very familiar with. Vampires and Werewolves milled about the place. Charles glared at the Goblins that he had been with a few hours ago. They could have mentioned something. Figures, they wanted the information first hand to plan for the meeting.

Charles hated, _hated_, this sort of thing and avoided them at all costs. They were long and tedious and pointless reunions often filled with petty arguments. It was probably the reason he never attended and why they had thought it better to simply not inform him. Now he couldn't say he was too busy washing his hair.

Like the coward he was, Leviathan scurried off. "Last time I buy you breakfast," Charles muttered resentfully.

A pouting and sullen eleven-year-old human on this sort of place was noticeable and it didn't take long for someone to approach Charles.

"Looky here boys, a lost little lamb. What are you doing here pretty? Are you someone's forgotten meal?" He asked with a leer. "Or something else? You are too pretty to be just a meal."

The werewolf didn't recognise him. Charles knew very little about Werewolves, but he assumed this one was a Beta based on what little he knew about their ranks.

Another werewolf quickly approached them and grabbed the first one by the arm, "Can't you be any stupider. Get the hell out of here before you get us all killed." The man hissed with anger.

"I am sorry, Mr Winter. It will not happen again. If you would accompany me, the meeting is about to start."

The man had a tattoo on his hand from the Blue Moon clan, one of the most powerful and influential werewolf clan in the world. Charles was almost sure there were also a clan in Japan and another in China and Russia that were at a par with it but couldn't remember the names.

Charles was little bemused to note that the man was not leading him to the meeting room. If not for the no violence wards around the place he'd be worried. Charles studied the man. He had an air of power. Strong jaw, dark eyes, not too tall but not short either, solid body and clad in leather.

"We don't have much time. They'll notice your absence," the man said.

"Who are you?"

"Someone who has lived as long as you."

"How is that possible? You don't have the whole," Charles made a waving motion to encompass the air around the man.

"I'm a Werewolf," he explained, "I changed in more ways than one."

He looked at Charles intensely. "You can only be Dartamian. He was the only one foolish enough to do what you have done. Do you have any idea of the consequences of your actions? Of course you don't."

Charles opened his mouth to defend himself. Of course he had no idea what he was doing but that didn't mean this man could judge him.

"Look, we don't have much time." He interrupted. "Go to this place and ask for Isaac. We'll talk then."

The door to the stairs opened and Seraphim stepped out.

"Mr Winter, we are waiting for you," Seraphim said frostily, looking at the werewolf with suspicion and distaste.

* * *

><p><strong>Sorry for the wait. I had my MCAT, Uni started, I moved, and a Hurricane is coming to P.R. today! So yeah, it has been busy.<strong>

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	37. Chapter 37: What have you done?

**Chapter 37: **What have you done?

_"You can only be Dartamian."_

The words still annoyed Charles, but most of all, they confused him. How could he have possibly known, so easily and without a doubt?

Olive Hornby had also recognized him by name. "_Your name is Dartamian Marcus Liander. I remember you." _

Yet, he had no idea who they had been in that life or any other. _"I don't remember you," _he had told her. _"Of course you don't. You never had reason to see me. I was no one, a nobody. Not in comparison to the Great Dartamian." _

Was it possible he was so self-absorbed that he did not notice those around him? But still. How do you recognize a person when everything that identifies them –name, physical appearance, background– was stripped away?

When someone asks 'who are you?' Is the correct response not 'I am C, son of A and B, of X town.' When C, A, B, and X are stripped away, who are you?

"_He was the only one foolish enough to do what you have done." _

Foolish. He had been called that many times. Foolish, impulsive, reckless, irresponsible. All of them and more had been attributed to his personality. It was both reassuring and frightening to have a constant in this ever-changing parade. He was constantly foolish. In each and every life he will be born a fool and die a fool. A fool who thinks he can make a difference. Absurd, they say. Crazy, they call him. But what sane person thinks he, and he alone, can save the Universe? Or change an entire society for the better? Only fools think like that, granted, overly optimistic fools with a foolish amount of self-confidence, but fools nonetheless.

"_Do you have any idea of the consequences of your actions? Of course you don't."_

Charles could admit –with no amount of surprise– that he had not thought of the consequences of his actions further ahead than the immediate benefit. His own benefit to be exact. Just thinking about the repercussions of his actions, starting by befriending a certain future dark lord, gave him a headache.

But he had not stopped at befriending Tom, no, he never did anything halfway. He had taught Tom Riddle wandless magic and giving him all the tools in the world. Money, connections, easy access to Arcane knowledge. Charles wouldn't delude himself in thinking he had changed Tom. Tom was Tom and will always be Tom. Charles had not stopped Lord Voldemort, if anything he had created a more prepared, stronger Lord Voldemort. He does not regret it; changing Tom has never been part of his plan.

But he had not stopped there. Like an elephant in a glass store he continued to destroy the future.

He threatened the Vampires, the Goblins and the Werewolves with annihilation to save his own life and freedom. And subsequently signed the Peace Accords, something that had never happened in the history –past, present or future– of Earth. Charles couldn't even fathom an Earth with no Magical Race at war with each other and were in turn, united. It had never happened; hence he had no idea how that world would look like.

Charles thought back to the series of event that led him to that moment and couldn't help but notice that all of his actions were purely selfish and self-serving in nature. He had wanted to find Flamel, not because he had seriously thought Flamel could help him, but because he had been feeling restless.

Instead of planning, the least he could have done, he had jumped ahead, like the foolish, reckless, idiot he was. That led him to being captured by vampires and almost killed. Several times.

Then, with a half-arsed plan and no backup, he had confronted Grindelwald. Luckily, he survived but not without alerting the entire world of his existence. And instead of waiting until the waters calmed to enact his next move, he had jumped right ahead and raised a dead army for the only purpose of reuniting with his parents.

His parents that held no importance in the greater scheme of things. They were only important to him and his sister. Not to the world and certainly not to the universe.

Understandably, after that stunt he had been classified as a threat and hunted down until he agreed to attend as an invited guest to Leviathan's party. Subsequently he signed the Accords. Not to bring peace on Earth, but to be left alone.

And he was wondering how Olive and the werewolf had known? He had left a clear path of foolish and self-absorbed behaviour to be identified with, and with all the subtlety of a neon sign pointing at his head.

In his defence, good judgment comes from experience. And experience comes from poor judgement. That said, he had a good, solid base of experience in which to draw good judgement from. Theoretically, he was well on his way to becoming an expert on good judgement. Theoretically.

Pleased with this conclusion, he stopped thinking about it. It would be a shame to ruin a perfectly good justification by thinking too hard on the numerous black holes that covered it.

_"Go to this place and ask for Isaac. We'll talk then."_

Charles held the crumpled piece of parchment with a barely legible address.

The meeting was still in place. Charles had stopped listening somewhere around Unicorns in Goblin territory and the new drug in the market, Dragon blood. He hated when Goblins talked, they could go on and on. There was no such thing as going to the point in their culture.

By the end of the meeting Charles was pretty sure he could be persuaded to sign a contract to kill all of the Unicorns and Dragons in the world, if only to never have to hear about the problems they were causing.

Not for the first time, he thought about choosing a representative that actually cared about what was happening _now_, instead of wondering if there was going to be a tomorrow.

_Ask for Isaac. _

Was Isaac the man's name or someone else? Go when? Just appear anytime, any day?

Was there some sort of ban about making concrete plans with dates, times and appropriate clothing he hadn't known of? Not that he was the paragon of detailed planning, as his past could attest, but a few specifics wouldn't have gone amiss.

He took out his pocket watch and opened the hidden catch. After folding the small piece of parchment several times he crammed it in with the _other_ piece of parchment, the one Olive Hornby had given him with the directions of his four homes and the directions of two other boys.

He wasn't sure why he hadn't looked up the two other boys. No, that was a lie. He knew perfectly well why he hadn't, and it was not just because he had been stuck at Hogwarts. He had been fearful they'd be as crazy as Hornby.

Great, not only he was a self-centred, foolish individual, he was also a coward. He liked to think he was also funny, but that might be the self-absorbed part talking.

But there was no doubt, he had been –still was– terrified at the possibility that he might truly be alone in this. That there would be no sudden help at a critical moment or brilliant idea that will solve the day. That he just had to figure everything out by himself. It was an intimidating prospect. His track record so far was not of an individual capable of saving the Universe by himself. He could barely save himself most of the time.

He was not just hoping for a miracle, he was counting on one.

"Mr Winter, are you listening?" the Goblin asked tartly, not for the first time. Charles looked up to see the entire table, some one hundred people, looking at him with amused expressions –the Vampires– or deeply annoyed –the Goblins and Werewolves.

Charles coughed, a blush spreading from his face to his neck and a sheepish smile on his lips. "Come again?"

"The Wizard War in Europe, Mr Winter. _Surely_ you have heard of it," the Goblin sneered in disdain.

"Yes, what about it?"

The Goblins that worked with him were used to this sort of behaviour from him, they hated it, but had enough experience to ignore it and carry on. The rest of the table, all Leaders in their own right, had conflicted opinions about his attitude.

Well, maybe not _that_ conflicted. If not because they feared massive destruction, death and extinction, they might have killed him a long time ago.

The fact that he came dressed as a normal boy, with age appropriate clothes for playing outside, as opposed to their crowns, jewels, capes and medals, did not help matters. Or that the only reason he came at all was because he was tricked into it.

"Are you in favour or against the war?" The Goblin asked and Charles knew that the next time he entered the bank he had to duck extra low, maybe even roll.

"As of right now," the werewolf portion of the table inched forward, they were the ones that had more to lose, or gain, from his response. "I am not actively against it."

"What does that mean?" The Blue Moon Alpha demanded in a deep rumbling voice. He was the same werewolf that had demanded his death as a solution before the Accords. He must be glad that Charles was of the forgiving sort.

"It means," _that I have absolutely no idea what I should do_, "that for the time being, I will not interfere." _That sounded sufficiently vague and neutral. _

Twenty people tried to talk –scream and demand– at the same time and the result was headache inducing. Charles calmly waited. He drummed his fingers on the table and some might have recognized the happy little tune.

Eventually they calmed and looked at Charles expectantly. He then let the silence stretch, and stretch, just because he could.

"Mr Winter, can you please explain your previous statement?" Someone, someone that Charles should know the name of, but didn't, spat out.

"This war has been brewing for over a thousand years. Oppression, discrimination and ignorance are the true causes of this war. Removing one man, even one army, will not remove the underlying causes of war. It will just start again under a new Leader, a new army. For change to happen, true change, laws must be reformed, public opinion must be improved and ignorance, if not destroyed, must be reduced."

Silence. And expectant looks. Charles sighed. They were still waiting for an _actual _answer.

"The man is a tyrant, not a true leader of the people. I am confident he will lose this war on his own. Even with the favourable climate helping him. I am more interested in rebuilding and creating a future with more education and less hate and discrimination."

A few Alphas looked sombrely between each other over the table and quiet murmur spread around the table.

"Do you believe he will betray his word to the Werewolves?"

"I don't know." Charles answered sincerely. "I don't know what he promised you or if he is a man of his word."

"He wants to meet you," the Blue Moon Alpha said.

Charles was _almost_ sure his name was Dan. Or Allan. Maybe it was Richard. It was best not to call him by name until he was sure.

"Maybe the Yule party Mr Winter is holding might be a good place to meet," a Goblin interfered. Charles, in slow motion, turned creepy basilisk eyes to the Goblin that had spoken. The Goblin gulped at the death glare but the damage was done. A murmur ran through the table.

Charles cleared his throat. "For the record, I am not holding a party and as you all know I have no wish to meet with anyone who is not bound by strict secrecy contracts." _Or anyone at all. _

He planned on leaving it like that, but was forced to continue, "My mother is holding a charity event."

"A _closed_ charity event?" a vampire pried.

Charles wondered for a few seconds if he could get away with lying. But no, they will eventually know. It was not a secret. Charles coughed, "No, not closed per se… a sizeable donation is required prior to the event to receive an invitation."

Charles had a feeling that the charity event had just gained a hundred more guests. If he was lucky. It may very well be in the thousand. His mother was going to kill him. Or hug him. Probably a combination of both. (A killer hug?)

The Vampires would go. There was no doubt. They were curious about him; no one has ever met his family, seen his house and very few details about his personal life were available.

They would not miss the opportunity to snoop and have prime gossip material. (_Cause? What cause? Children are for eating silly. Oh, for food you say? Yes, yes, they need to be fat and pink. I approve, continue on human.)_ And if the Vampires were snooping, the Goblins would not be left behind. Information was power and power was money. They were also paranoid to the extreme. _An event with Wizards and Vampires? It must be that he's planning to backstab the Goblins!_

The Werewolves would probably feel as if they were losing if they were not there and their competitive nature would not allow that.

One thing was certain, Charles was going to bankrupt them if they decide to come. All in the name of a noble cause, of course. Not at all because of petty revenge or his own twisted amusement.

Maybe his parents had it right all along. A farm in the middle of nowhere and as little contact with humanity as possible was the road to happiness. And to sanity.

He excused himself early from the meeting.

The fact that no one cited a rule, or five or ten, to get him to stay made him suspicious, but his urge to leave was greater than his paranoia. They probably wanted to gossip behind his back, and who was he to deny them?

The doors closed with a thud and he paused a moment to enjoy it. Freedom. Never, ever again was he going to buy Leviathan breakfast.

He checked his pocket watch. It was still early. Only in his mind a hundred years had gone by. He walked quickly to the main room. He hoped to see the werewolf again in private.

He asked around but the man had already left. With nothing else left to do and with no intention of going back to the meeting, he left.

-0-

Tom stopped mid-sentence. He turned around and looked at the front door of the Three Broomsticks. Four seconds later the door opened and Charles entered.

"How do you always know?" Nott asked. He was the son of the current Minister, but by the way he acted you'd think he was the heir of the world. Tom had met Crown Heirs with more humility. Sadly, Nott was also one of their roommates and they had to live with his Royal Highness.

"Know what?" Tom asked distractedly, his eyes following Charles' movement around the crowded pub.

"You always know when Winter is going to enter a room, even before he enters. It's like…like you have some sort of charm that tells you when he is near."

"Yeah," Lestrange rapidly agreed, his strange bluish-purple eyes shinning with excitement, "It's weird how you can predict when he is going to enter a room, or know where he is at all times. Do you have a spell on the necklace you both always wear? Is that it?" Lestrange sounded as if he already figured it all out and was only waiting for confirmation.

Tom took a long drink from his butterbeer to avoid answering. He was getting tired of his roommates' persistent questions. First it had been about his adoption, then about how rich the Winter family actually was (Very, he had answered) and now about Charles. 'Why is he always so silent?' Lestrange had asked. 'He has a loud mind', Tom had answered.

They were siting in a small table at the back. The table was blocked from view by a tall potted plant. The pub was filled to capacity and then some. They almost had to scream to be heard above the noise.

Tom was bored, had been for a long while. Before Charles appeared he had been seriously considering walking back to the castle. It was better than fending off his too-curious roommates. They thought that prying for information made them more Slytherin-like. But in reality, it only made them nosy.

Tom did not respond to the absurd necklace theory and just looked at Charles. Charles seemed tense, he was ordering a drink at the bar and talking to a few second year girls. Even from afar, Tom could tell that Charles was only humouring the girls. His smile was fake and his body faced the bar and not the girls.

After a long wait, Charles received his butterbeer. Without so much as a cursory look around the crowded bar, Charles made his way directly to their table. If their roommates noticed that too, they did not mention it.

Charles was stopped a few times on his way to their table, his smile getting more and more brittle as the interruptions continued. The last leg of the trip Charles only nodded without stopping.

"Finally," Charles breathed as he sat besides Tom. Or more precisely, on half of Tom's chair since there was no spare chair in the entire establishment.

"What have I missed?" Charles asked with a half-hearted smile.

"Nothing," Tom said at the same time Nott and Lestrange started with different accounts of the day, which included Joseph Longbotton's unfortunate attire and Jessica from Hufflepuff short haircut.

Charles did not even pretend to pay attention. The minute 'attire' and 'haircut' were mentioned his eyes glazed over and he looked down at his butterbeer. A deep frown covering his face.

Tom sighed in annoyance. Charles had only just arrived and he already was off in his own world again.

'_How were they going to rise in Slytherin if Charles kept dismissing the Minister's son and the Undersecretary's?' _Tom thought,_ 'Even if their conversation left much to be desired.'_

Their roommates had obviously taken notice of Charles inattention and were glowering. They were not used to being ignored by their peers, on the contrary, they were used to children begging for their attention.

Tom's only friend has always been Charles and since his orphanage days he had not much contact with large groups of children. As such, Tom was not used to interacting with children and their 'rules'. Tom was learning at Hogwarts something he should have learned a long time ago, and that was how to behave in social groups and how to interact with other, more normal, children. Their peers had a lot of rules, he was beginning to realize, even more than Annabelle and Frank and their teachers combined. They loved to point out all of the ways _other_ children were wrong and things that were not 'fair'.

Tom found it extremely curious that the more disinterested Charles appeared, the more the children tried to befriend him. The more serious he was, the more they tried to pry a smile from him. And children who were desperate for a friend were generally ignored.

Every day Tom learned new ways in how to behave in order to produce a set of results.

"Are you ok?" Tom asked quietly when Charles refused to resurface from his mind world. Or as quietly as the situation allowed, which was a not-quite shout to Charles' ear.

Charles shrugged, not looking away from the drink in front of him. Lestrange and Nott were snubbing them by having their own conversation. Charles did not notice and Tom did not care.

"So, Winter, where were you this afternoon?" Lestrange asked suddenly and loudly. Charles looked up from his drink and looked at Lestrange as if it was the first time he was seeing him. Lestrange flushed under the sudden attention. Tom very well knew how intense Charles could be, and that Lestrange was probably feeling that his very soul was being analysed.

A group of people laughed loudly to their right, slapping their hands on the table and shouting. They had to wait a few seconds before the level of noise went from intolerably loud to loud again.

"At the bank."

"Why?"

"My uncle asked me as a favour. He is out of the country at the moment."

Tom has heard girls around school say that a boy can lie with his lips, but not with his eyes. Charles lied with his lips, with his eyes, with his eyebrows, his legs, his hair, the hair on his legs…

"And why would he ask _you_?" Nott asked nastily. "My father, _the Minister of Magic_, has people who do the menial tasks for him."

Charles nodded, already lost in his own world and looking out the window. Nott flushed with anger at the dismissal. The teachers called Charles insolent. Had he been born a century in the future he'd be diagnosed with attention deficit disorder. Charles would only say that he had been taught to stay silent when he had nothing nice to say.

"I'm glad you decided to join us, Charles," Flint said meekly with a slight stutter. The three other boys at the table sneered at Flint with distaste and Flint flinched back as if he had been physically struck.

Charles smiled a little at Flint and the boy's shoulders slumped from their defensive position. The sneers turned into hateful glares. Lestrange and Nott might not like Charles but they vied for Charles' attention just like everyone else, whether they were consciously aware of it or not. Tom simply hated the Flint for being pathetic.

"I bought this for you," Flint continued with a bright red flush, he handed Charles a bright red candy bar, "Tom said it was your favourite."

Charles smiled more genuinely now, "Did he now?" Charles looked at Tom with fond exasperation and took the candy bar. "Thank you, I might change you for Tom. You obviously make a better brother."

Tom elbowed him sharply. Flint glowed under the compliment.

It was white chocolate with raisons. Tom's favourite. Charles hated it, but it didn't matter since he wasn't supposed to eat candy anyway. It made him hyperactive. More so than usual.

"Winter, is it true that you have Riddle's name on your wrist because he did a dark ritual to own you?" Lestrange asked excitedly. It was a rumour that had been circling Hogwarts for a while. It was almost an accepted fact.

Charles frowned. "No, its just regular ink. But I did sell my soul to him."

"For what?" Lestrange asked in a combination of horror and excitement.

Charles scrunched his nose as he thought back, "I don't remember. I had one too many calming draughts that day," he explained. "For what did I sell my soul for?" Charles asked Tom with curiosity.

"For a cup of tea," Tom responded, and muttered, "lazy sod."

"I asked you a cup of tea and you asked for my soul? You know, some people might call you demanding."

Charles now remembered. It had been a couple of years ago. Tom had been furious with him for not doing the ritual when the calming draughts had worn off, Charles remembered with a smile. Silly Tom. He should have never trusted Charles to keep his word. Tom had still been young then, innocent.

Before anyone else could continue asking, Nott interrupted.

"The elections are coming up soon, is your Uncle going to be in town to vote?" Nott inquired 'innocently'. It had all the subtlety of an incoming train. The boy simply hated not being the centre of attention.

"Let's not talk about politics please!" Charles complained with a groan. "I'm sick and tired of politics."

Nott bristled at that.

"Politics are a very serious and important matter," he said in a pompous tone, obviously repeating someone else' words. "If my father doesn't win that old fart _Ross_ will take the post and _everyone knows_ he is the one spreading the lies about war to gain more votes."

"My father-" Lestrange began but Charles cut him.

"It's stuffy in here," Charles complained. He wanted to leave. The place was packed; it was hard to hear your own thoughts with the noise level.

And to be forced to hear politics, from two kids that were obviously repeating their father's words, just after a meeting was much more than he could tolerate on a good day. Today was not a good day.

Tom took the hint and asked, "Do you want to get out from here?"

Charles nodded with enthusiasm and got up.

They left the stuffy pub quickly. With Tom by his side, no one stopped them to chat. They calmly walked through the village and stepped into the road that led to Hogwarts.

"What?" Charles asked. Tom had been in a sullen silence since they left the pub.

"You know what," Tom said with a glare. Tom could be so prickly when he was feeling insecure. It would almost be cute if it weren't so annoying.

"You know I wouldn't change you for all the sweets in the world."

"Are you just saying that because you aren't allowed to eat sweets?"

"It does affect my decision somewhat. Why trade you for something I can't eat? If someone were to offer me a lifetime supply of, say, treacle tart… But you don't have to worry about that, I seriously doubt anyone is going to make the offer."

Tom glared, apparently not reassured.

"Flint would probably run away the first time I try to play with him. He is not as resilient as you," Charles tried again. "You bounce back every time I drop you off a cliff."

Tom sighed and looked at Charles with something resembling amusement. "I'll just resign myself to the knowledge that you'll swap me if the right conditions present themselves."

"That's the spirit!"

"So, what do you feel like doing?" Tom asked when they neared the castle.

"Something fun," Charles said.

Tom felt a shiver of dread and anticipation run through him. With Charles that could mean anything from rising the dead to playing cards. But Charles' tone and earlier disposition had Tom leaning towards explosives.

-0-

"Mr Winter you waited too long to seek me and the bone has already mended itself at the wrong angle. I'm sorry to say your arm will always have that bent shape," the Healer said with a serious frown.

They had used the magical stairs as a play ground in a highly dangerous game that involved a friction-less board and going down eight flights of stairs, starting from the Astronomy tower.

With stairs that moved, and left one side in the air for a few minutes until they reached the connecting stair, walls that were not walls and trip stairs, the game had been highly intense. They had separated a few times, one of them reaching a set of stairs before they moved. And a few times they had used their velocity and momentum to fly through the air and reach a particular set of stairs before they could be left behind. Charles was sure that the stairs had been aware of the game and had made it all that difficult by changing just when they were near the bottom and unable to stop themselves.

A frictionless board meant that any sudden movement catapulted them in that direction and often in circles, and stopping was all but impossible.

Charles felled, or was pushed, depending who you ask, off the edge and had broken his arm when he chose to win the game versus landing correctly.

By eleven-year-old standards, a broken arm was nothing to bragging rights.

None of the teachers had witnessed them coming down the stairs like bullets, they had been either at Hogsmeade or enjoying their free day, so they had passed it off as an accident, which _technically_ it had been. Charles had not _meant _to break his arm.

Charles' body had enough practice with broken bones to 'learn' to deal with the pain. Since he had not felt the pain, thus had not known the severity of the injury, they had gone to the kitchens for food. In the time it took them to arrive to the Hospital Wing, the surrounding skin and bone had already mended, but not in the right position.

Charles and Tom shared a look while the Healer was busy. He could not have his arm like this for the rest of his life. The solution was clear, if unfortunate and painful.

With a whimper Charles surrendered his arm to Tom. Charles closed his eyes and turned his head away. In the quiet room the 'snap' of a bone breaking and Charles' muffled scream was loud.

"Mr Riddle, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" The Healer bellowed in horror.

"Now you can mend the bone at the right angle." Tom said without any sort of regret.

She glared at Tom but got right to work like a professional. Tom was sent to the Headmaster with a furious Healer on tow. By morning the entire castle would know that Tom Riddle cold bloodedly broke Charles Winter's arm, twice.

-0-

Charles opened his eyes when he heard the Hospital Wing's front door open with a creak. It was already late in the night and the Hospital Wing was dark. There was only the faint light of the moon coming from the long row of windows.

He hadn't been able to sleep in the unfamiliar environment. The bed was harder than rock and the sheets were too thin to provide any sort of warmth.

Dumbledore had been there earlier to talk to him about the incident. Charles had explained that the first time he had broken his arm it had been an accident and the second Tom had done it only so that the Healer could set it right. Charles had a feeling Dumbledore had not believed him.

Charles could hardly blame him. Tom was not the best at looking repentant or faking sympathy. Tom probably said something that sounded highly insensitive and cruel when confronted because he was feeling attacked. And normal people would not be able to break the arm of someone they cared about, even if it was for their own good.

It was unusual but Tom was unusual. Tom would break every single bone in Charles' body with a disturbing amount of delight if there were a reason for it. And the reason might not be Charles' welfare.

Unnaturally soft steps neared his bed. Charles tried to sit up using only one arm but only managed an awkward half-siting position.

"Move over," Tom said.

"Kind of hard. A little help might be nice."

On a sunny day Charles could only make out vague shapes without his glasses. In the dark, he was blind. As if realizing his predicament, Tom searched for his glasses and set them on his face. When the world went back to focus Charles exclaimed, "What happened to your hands?"

"I was given three lashes and a month of detention," Tom responded with hatred.

"Bastards," Charles muttered. Charles frowned and studied Tom's wrist. A white and red bracelet made of magic materialized. "It should have protected you."

"It's only a scratch, Charles."

"Still. They had no right. It has been hours, why hasn't the Healer healed it yet?"

"It's part of the punishment."

Charles let out q long string of curses that made Tom feel better. There was something soothing about hearing your best friend wish the death of all those who wronged you.

"Sit," Charles commanded. Tom sat at the edge of the bed. Charles breathed deeply. And Tom felt the very air still. Tom handed his hands to Charles when he asked for them with the same trust that Charles had shown him earlier. Tom felt as if his hands had been dipped in alcohol. They felt cold, wet and stung. The urge to pull away was pressing but Tom stayed still.

In moments his skin knitted together without leaving scars. Tom rearranged himself more comfortably on the bed, pushing Charles to the very edge.

"Tom we are not six anymore. We don't fit in a small bed anymore," Charles complained.

"We do, you just have to move your arm –no, no, like this. And stop hogging the pillow. Ouch, your elbow!"

A snarky comment was on the tip of Charles tongue but he held it in. He did not want to be alone in this depressing ward. Grudgingly, Charles made room for Tom.

"Adults are stupid."

Charles made an agreeing sound but did not comment. Only arranged the sheets more comfortably around them.

It was only late in the night when sleep claimed them. Both of them an awkward mess of limbs and sheets.

Light tingled Charles' eyes. Weird. Light never reached the dungeons. Cold feet rubbed against Charles' calf, and tried to bury under his calves. Charles sleepily kicked the offending appendage. He heard a grunt and hoped he had broken something. At least severely maimed.

But he doubted it when a warm body pressed against his back, seeking warmth like a burrowing animal. An elbow to the midsection took care of that problem. A string of curses made Charles smile at his pillow and go back to sleep.

"OUT! Out of my Hospital and away from my patient you fiend!" The Healer's yells woke them up.

Tom glared at the woman but dutifully got up and dressed.

"I'll see you in breakfast," Charles told him quietly. Tom nodded sharply and left.

The staff at Hogwarts had not thwarted Tom's views on adults. It was disappointing and depressing that with their actions they confirmed a young boy's jaded view that they could not be relied on.

-0-

"Mr Winter could you be so kind as to stay after class?" Dumbledore asked before the bell rang. When the rest of the students left, he asked, "How are you feeling Mr Winter?"

"Fine, sir."

"That's good. I couldn't help but notice that you have forgiven Mr Riddle." Dumbledore commented over his half-moon spectacles.

"I'm sure that if you would have tried a little harder, sir, you might have been busy enough not to notice."

"A little respect Mr Winter." Dumbledore said with a sharp tone. After a deep, calming breath he continued more calmly. "As your teacher it is my responsibility to look after my students-"

"If you took your responsibility that seriously you might have noticed that one of your lions has dyslexia and taken the proper steps to get her the medical attention she needs so that she doesn't fail the year. But I'm guessing you don't even know who I'm talking about?" Charles snapped.

After a moment Dumbledore said, "You are…a difficult child, Mr Winter. I just wish to understand you."

"Very well, Tom and I are the same as ever." Meaning that Tom had tried to suffocate Charles with a pillow after Charles had confessed to reading his diary. Complete disregard for personal property, invasion of privacy and attempted murder, same as ever.

"Did he ask for forgiveness?"

"He had no need to ask forgiveness because as I _told_ you before he had done nothing wrong," Charles said with anger.

"Let me see if I understand you correctly," Dumbledore leaned forward and looked at Charles intently, "you believe that brutally hurting a person is acceptable if in the end, it heals them?"

Charles blinked. "Of course, Professor," he said slowly, as if speaking to a child.

With a confused smile Charles said, "You would make one horrible Healer, Professor. You know that right? If it comes to saving a life or a leg most people would prefer to be a leg-less person than a two-legged corpse."

"Thank you, Mr Winter. I think I understand you a bit better now. Make sure you take care of that arm."

Charles nodded, and turned around, still confused. He had a feeling this conversation had been about something more than Tom breaking his arm. "Mr Winter?" Dumbledore called him when he was at the door. "The girl's name?"

"Teresa Higgs."

Dumbledore nodded with a smile. "Thank you Mr Winter. I'll see that she receives the care she needs."

-0-

"What do other people do when they are bored?" Charles asked. They were by the lake. It was dark but the full moon provided sufficient light. Charles was reclining on a high branch and Tom was down by the base of the tree.

It was Halloween and everyone else was at the feast. Since Charles couldn't eat sweets they had decided to skip it. Mountains of sweets and Charles were not a smart combination, not if the castle was to stand in the morning.

"I saw a group of boys playing pretend. I did not understand the rules very well though. They kept changing." Tom said as he jumped from one rock to another.

"We could do that," Charles said from his perch on top of a tree.

"What should we pretend to be? Aurors?"

"No, too much paperwork."

Tom rolled his eyes. "Dragon hunters?"

"We don't have any dragons."

"It's called _pretend_ for a reason, Charles."

"Oh, right. But there's not much in fun hunting dragons without the dragons is there?"

"Pirates?"

"Ok, you can be a pirate and I can be from the Royal Navy."

"What's the difference?" Tom asked with a frown.

"Not much. We do the same things. But if you get caught, you get killed. And if I get caught I get a medal."

"That doesn't sound very fair."

"You get to use skulls in your flag," Charles tempted.

Tom thought about it, "Alright then."

"Should we be in the water for this? To get a more realistic sense?" Charles asked as he dropped down from the tree.

"Well, maybe. I guess we don't break any rule by making it a little bit more realistic. But I don't want to get wet. The water is cold. "

"We could just float on top of the water and _pretend_ we are on top of a ship."

…

Charles gasped for breath as he finally reached shore. An equally wet and breathless Tom arrived a few seconds later. They both sat with the waves lapping at their half-submerged bodies. They watched as two fully equipped and very real ships sank under the murky waters of the lake. Flames consumed the half of the ship that was still above water until the last of it sank and the black waters calmed.

"I don't think we are very good at playing pretend," Charles commented, taking out large alga from his hair.

"It's a stupid game anyway."

* * *

><p><strong>AN**

I have a poll on my profile on whether or not you wish this story to have a romantic pairing. Go there and vote! After you review this chapter of course.


	38. Chapter 38: Great weakness in strength

Chapter 38: There is a great strength in weakness and a great weakness in strength

Tom found Charles in the Ravenclaw tower, which was funny because Charles had explicitly told him he'd be on the Quidditch pitch and the Ravenclaw tower was nowhere _near _the Quidditch pitch.

Tom had asked ten of Charles' most frequent 'friends', individually, and they had all confirmed that Charles had been with them the entire morning. All ten of them.

What was extremely funny is that when Tom asked where and at what time all ten said different places but for the duration of the entire morning so either Charles had discovered how to clone himself or all of his 'friends' were covering for him and not doing a very good job of it. Tom was certain it wasn't planned, they didn't know why they were lying or if it was necessary, it was just in case Charles was purposely evading the scary boy, they lied.

The door to the Ravenclaw room was nauseatingly obvious with its raven doorknob and opened without hesitation after he answered the silly riddle correctly. The lack of security was disgusting.

To add salt to injury, no one looked up to see who had entered. Did no one care? In Slytherin _everyone _carefully watched who entered or exited. It was a security measure as well as great source of information.

A handful of students were in the common room, with a book in their laps, a quill in their fingers or playing a game of chess. It was very quiet.

With a quick, casual look, Tom memorized the layer of the tower.

The place had its own sort of charm, if you were into bright, open spaces, which he was not. It was roughly a circular room, full of bookshelves, floor to ceiling Palladian windows, tall ceiling with arches and circular stairs.

Signs of Charles' presence were all around the room.

A coat hanger that was full of robes and pointy hats by the entrance had one robe with the Slytherin green bordering. A pair of fine-made leather shoes had been carelessly left on the floor, a green scarf besides them. Charles' brown leather bag was sloppily dropped on a chair along with his green jumper, a book and a half-finished essay. On the mantle above the fireplace was Charles' participation trophy.

Participation trophy meant that out of the possible ten places in the pantomime competition, which only eleven students participated, Charles got the 'participation' trophy. In other words, eleventh place –last place, and the professor had seemed hesitant to even grant him that much.

Yet, it was proudly displayed in a place of honour here in the Ravenclaw tower.

Charles himself was sleeping on a couch close to the fire. It was, in fact, only one of the two couches in the entire common room. It was meant to be shared by the two hundred or so children living in the tower, but Charles alone occupied the entire couch. A feat for such a small person. His sock-clad feet dangled off the edge and his eyes were covered with a blue Ravenclaw scarf.

Charles had his sleeves rolled up, his tie was missing and his hair was dishevelled with sleep. The fact that Charles had made himself at home in the Ravenclaw Tower did not _necessarily_ surprise Tom. It was the fact that he had been _allowed_ that stunned him, even if it shouldn't. It bothered him, yes, but that was not his biggest grievance.

Above all, Tom was annoyed to see that Charles had miss-matched socks. One white and one grey. It was petty, but it was one of the many things about Charles that drove Tom crazy and he could not bring himself to forgive. Tom always purchased Charles' socks, and always of the same colour, grey, and Charles_ still_ managed to find the one in a hundred sock that was not grey and match it with a grey one.

It drove Tom to madness. Some days it seemed that their friendship would have to end because of it.

As if to taunt him, one sock-clad foot twitched.

Where others saw submissive and naïve behaviour, Tom saw it for what it was, Charles' dominating and domineering personality shinning through. Charles took what he wanted, when he wanted without a second thought simply because he could. And people were so stupid, _so blind_, that they pandered to Charles' capricious whims.

Annabelle was right in saying that Charles needed more people in his life that said 'no' to him more frequently. He was too used to getting what he wanted for it to be healthy.

Tom was egotistical and self-serving but Charles took it to another level with his unassuming demeanour. Tom, as much as it pained him, had added humility to his school persona. It was too effective as a tool to be dismissed, as Charles had demostrated.

Charles looked way too peaceful for Tom to be happy. Tom felt the need to disrupt him. To make him as annoyed as he was. Very carefully, Tom approached the couch, when he was close enough he pushed Charles off the couch with one swift push to the back.

Charles landed on the floor with a very satisfying 'thud'. Music to his ears. Now, maybe, he could begin to forgive Charles for being, well, Charles. Perpetually on a mission to make Tom suffer with his inability to match socks.

Charles rubbed the knee that had taken most of the impact and glared at Tom, still looking half asleep.

"I thought you were supposed to be at the Quidditch pitch," Tom accused sharply before Charles could say anything.

Charles' eyes shone with defiance. "I lied." He spat. "I do so on occasion." He was mad. Good. Tom was also mad.

"Nice to know. Now get up, we have potions."

"What time is it?" Charles asked, rubbing his eyes and stretching.

"Time for potions." Tom answered tersely back.

If he told Charles that they still had half an hour for class to start Charles would not move until the last second and he was not going to be late.

"Get up, get your things, and let's go. We're not going to be late!"

Charles nodded, still sleepy and looked around the room for his things.

Charles knew from personal experience that Tom would break the rules on Apparition, the wards, his arm, and quite possibly the laws of nature to ensure that they arrive to class on time and Charles was not in the mood to start a fight that would only end with him being on potions on time.

Charles stretched a bit more –to be annoying, dragged his jumper on top of his crinkled shirt and found his tie under the couch, his shoes on a corner. After a bit of searching he found his belt on top of a statue. Interesting. He was not sure how it got there.

He dragged a hand through his hair to calm it a bit. He went up the stairs for his potions equipment, liberally borrowing what he had misplaced and ran back down the stairs to see Tom waiting for him by a window.

It was snowing outside but the tower was pleasantly warm and smelled of peppermint and chocolate. If not for Myrtle and _her_, Charles would have regretted not being in Ravenclaw. But since _She_ lived there, the place was ruined.

He nodded to Tom and they left with only a nod at a few Ravens that looked up from their books. They did not care one bit if he was marching to his death or going to class. It made Charles warm with pleasure.

On their way to the dungeons they talked a bit more about their final project for potions. They were still a bit unsure on a few points. Sadly, only the culmination of their finished product could answer them, as the particular batch of ingredients was not part of any real, academically approved potion.

"We'll just have to see how the belladonna reacts to unicorn hair and then how that products combines with frog legs," Charles mussed.

They should have probably done a bit more research but since they were first years they were only expected to produce something stable and have a relative idea what it was supposed to do, not really make something ground breaking.

The semester had been theory thus far, with only a few hands-on potions. This project was Slughorn'a way of letting them fly solo and get a feel of what potions was truly about.

Slughorn had given each pair a set of random ingredients and it was their job to predict a result based on their properties and how they worked together. The procedure had to be based on the existing literature. It made his job easier as the students were forced to study on their own time.

They entered the room whispering and, at Charles insistence, sat at the back of the class.

"We cannot just add the egg and hope for the best." A red, patchy flush covered Tom's face and neck. That, paired with the quiet, rational tone of voice usually indicated that Tom was seconds away from breaking a cauldron on Charles' head.

Charles knew the signs, yet, "It is not that big of a deal. The worst thing that can happen is nothing and that is probably more than what half the class will get."

"Not… that…. Big… of… a …deal?" Tom whispered in a deceptively calm voice, breathing deeply with each word.

Tom nodded, as if he had reached a decision and Charles blanched, realizing his mistake a tad too late and slowly inched away from the table when the professor entered and unknowingly saved him from a lot of pain.

For now, at least.

Charles sat back, keeping a prudent space between them, and resigned himself for two hours of absolute boredom. The bad thing about taking a nap before a class was that he was now awake. And jittery. His leg bounced up and down, his fingers drummed in the table and his eyes roamed the room for entertainment.

He wanted a calming draught. As soon as the thought came, it was all he could think about.

The only noise in the room was the professor's voice and the scratch of quills and that did not help. Charles looked up, counted the number of rocks in the ceiling, looked down, took a parchment out and dropped a dollop of ink on the center and with the quill started drawing. By his third ruined parchment he got bored again.

He felt too restless to read.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Tom glared at him and stopped the tapping of his fingers by putting his hand above them. It was in this moment of stillness that he noticed it. Sweat. His eyes and mind concentrated on the detail. It was unusual, thus interesting. They were not working with fire, only observing the ingredients and the room was cold. His intrigued was picked and he unconsciously stilled.

Falling posture and an involuntary twitch of her right hand. Fascinated, Charles kept close watch, even when Tom elbowed him to start working cutting materials. Rather sharply, actually, more than the action demanded.

Charles automatically cut the herbs Tom put in front of him, the knife fitting in his hand like it was made to be there.

Trembling hands. _Is she cold?_ Or, _is she sick?_

"Are you listening to me?" Tom asked, furious.

"Huh? What? Yeah, yeah –of course," Charles answered distractedly, his eyes glued to the girl.

"Then you'll do it?" Tom asked with suspicion.

"Sure." _Did she drop her knife?_

"You are not listening!" Tom accused but Charles did not even hear him.

Several things happened in the space of a few seconds. Charles saw her start convulsing and fall to the ground. He was out of his chair and besides her before his chair had time to touch the stone floor. The clattering noise of the chair hitting the floor, and not the girl convulsing on the floor, was what gained the attention of the entire room and the professor.

"Tom," Charles called, his voice alarmed. Charles was blocked from Tom's view by the benches and chairs. Tom stood stonily by his bench.

"Tom!" Charles called again when he got no response, this time sounding even more desperate. Tom wanted to ignore Charles –wanted it so much he almost did it. With one last glare to the table, he put down his knife and walked around his bench and towards Charles.

"I'm here," Tom said quietly. Charles' eyes felled on him and a brief flash of relief passed, so quickly that he almost missed it.

"She's having an allergic reaction to doxy eggs."

Charles closed his eyes and dropped his head in thought, when he looked up again he had a trail of blood running down his nose. Small, but familiar. "Bring me a quarter of bezoar and dilute a handful of mistletoe berries, mint sprigs and lavender in honeywater. Quick!"

Tom tasted blood from biting his tongue to stop himself from talking –yelling, screaming, or shouting. With one last glare at both Charles and the girl, he left to gather the ingredients.

Charles took off his tie and shoved it in her mouth to prevent her from biting off her tongue. The students crowded them, forming a tight circle around them that was beginning to feel claustrophobic but no one moved forward to help or hinder. They watched in horrified silence as her body convulsed, her back arched and her arms flayed. It made a grotesque sight but none could stop staring.

She had long blonde hair and as Charles held her down it was the only thing he could see. Blonde hair that with the right light seemed painfully familiar and sent Charles' already confused mind into blind panic. Professor Slughorn stared dumbly with his mouth wide open until Charles snapped at him to find the healer.

Tom came back with the mix and Charles did not wait for the healer to arrive to administer it.

In the time it took for the healer to arrive the girl's heart stopped two times. Charles restarted her heart manually, fearing the magic in her system would be too much for her body to take.

Some students tried to pry him away from her, thinking he was hurting her by pushing at her chest but he resisted their hands and continued trying to get blood into her brain until help arrived.

The healer arrived and took her away. Charles' hands trembled so hard he was unable to get up from the floor. Slughorn, having calm down and regained his sense of authority, sent him to the Hospital Wing as well, confused about his bloody nose but unable to get an answer from Charles.

Tom walked him in silence.

"She had blonde hair," Charles said, his voice hollow.

"I know." Tom responded. And he knew. As far as he had known him, Charles' worst nightmare was loosing his sister. Tom directed Charles to a bed in the Hospital Wing.

Charles sat for a long while, looking at his hands while Tom stood there watching him. Finally the healer arrived after leaving the girl stable and declared Charles had a case of mild exhaustion. All the excitement, she said.

Charles fell into a fitful asleep. Tom stared down at him and brushed his forehead. Charles muttered under his breath but stayed asleep. Not even his mother could touch him without Charles waking up but after years of sleeping together, Charles hardly ever woke up because of Tom.

"I won't always be here, you know." Tom murmured. "Someday I'll get tired of picking up the pieces each time you destroy yourself. Someday you'll wake up and I won't be here. Then, what will you do?"

As expected, he received no answer. Tom stood up and made his way out of the infirmary.

"Riddle," the voice of a girl called him back.

Tom stopped and looked back. The girl, Jennifer Harris, a muggleborn, was already awake. A severe allergic reaction was nothing magic could not cure, if it didn't kill you before you have a chance to reach a healer that is.

"Is Winter here?" she asked hopefully, looking from under her lashes. She looked weak and pale but far from her deathbed. She had long blonde hair, but that was were the similarities between Abigael and her stopped. It was not even the right shade. Her nose was too big, and her face too square for her to be considered traditionally pretty. Normal, Tom decided, she was normal. Maybe even pretty, if you squint.

"He is resting," Tom responded, perhaps too sharply, if the way that she flinched was any indication.

"C-could you tell him to speak with me when he wakes. I-I wish to t-thank him. For, you know," she blushed deeply, "saving me."

Tom breathed deeply, to calm himself, and carefully approached her bed. She looked embarrassed and covered herself with the white hospital blanket.

"Of course," he hesitated, as if he was unsure if to say something else, "you seem like a really nice girl, and Charles is my brother in all but blood, but –just promise you'll be careful, ok?" Tom bit his lip and lowered his eyes –showing emotion with his eyes was still something he couldn't do.

"What –what do you mean?" she asked hesitantly. Her stutter was begging to really annoy Tom but he didn't let it show.

"I wouldn't wish to speak ill of my brother, but you should be careful around him. He sometimes can take advantage of the people around him and –and you seem really nice. I –I just don't want you to get hurt."

Tom looked up, uncertainty radiating from his posture, as if he wasn't sure how she would take the warning.

"Thank you," she said hesitantly, "you seem really nice too." Tom smiled shyly and quickly covered it up with a serious face, as if he had let something show through his mask he hadn't wanted.

She smiled more surely now and said, "I think people are being unnecessarily cruel with you and I for one will not believe their nasty rumours anymore."

Tom gave her half a smile and said, "Well, at least I'll have one person in the entire castle that believes in me."

"I'll make my friends see reason too," she said in a stubborn voice with her small chin raised up. Gryffindor all the way.

"Thank you, I appreciate it. Now I must be going. Rest well, Miss Harris."

-0-

"It was weird. She only said a terse 'thank you' and left. I did not expect sonnets or flowers but a little bit more of gratitude wouldn't have hurt." Charles was on the hospital bed eating from a tray of food.

"Give her some break, she almost died," Tom reasoned as he snatched with his fingers the pickles from Charles' tray, eating them before Charles could take them away.

"Yeah, I guess so."

Tom looked up from his second snatch to see Charles looking at the window with a vacant expression. Tom stopped eating and swallowed with difficulty. He hated Charles for making him go through this again. If this time were like any other, Charles would have violent nightmares every night for a week and be distant and confused by day.

Charles' mind was like a sand castle, no matter how tall or how strong it was built, it was still sand and when the tide came it still got destroyed. And the process to rebuild it was always long.

"Mr Riddle, visiting hours are over," the healer said frostily. She still hasn't forgiven him.

Tom nodded and turned to Charles. The healer looked at them with thinly veiled curiosity and suspicion. Tom ignored her and placed a hand in Charles' shoulder, when Charles looked back, his eyes troubled, Tom said, "I'm leaving now."

"Why?" Charles asked confusedly, his head turning to the side to look at Tom better.

Tom threw a quick look at the healer. "Visiting hours' are over."

Charles looked at the healer, and the healer couldn't help the shiver that ran through her back at the intensity of the look, "Is that really necessary?"

"I'm afraid it is, you need to rest."

"I'm fine," Charles all but spat.

"Even the best of us need rest." The healer placated. She prepared herself for a long battle with her most difficult patient but to her great surprise it proved unnecessary.

Tom gently pushed Charles back to the bed.

"Stop being difficult, you know you are tired," Tom said. The healer's eyebrows rose to her hairline.

Tom whispered something to Charles' ear and the boy relaxed. Tom stood with his hand in Charles forehead, absentmindedly pushing the hair back, and within moments Charles' chest rose up and down slowly in sleep.

For the first time the healer believed that perhaps she had been quick to judge Mr Riddle. She wouldn't apologize but, "Mr Riddle," she called back the boy as he was half-way to the door, "you can come back after dinner and perhaps bring some treacle tart for Mr Winter, I hear they are his favourites." The healer tried to convince herself that she had imagined the victory shinning out of Mr Riddle dark eyes.

-0-

Tom came back after dinner to find Charles' bedside table full of gifts. His fingers twitched with the need to destroy them but the Healer would surely notice.

Charles opened his eyes when Tom neared and even without glasses looked at him directly. Magic, there was no other way. Charles had lost most his eyesight to a magical incident. Tom did not think it strange; it was their way.

"You should be sleeping."

"You should be carrying treacle tarts."

"I guess we are both at fault." Tom smiled slightly, but it was mostly hollow. "You should have left her die."

"I couldn't."

"You could." Tom knew it was a low blow, but he needed to drive his point across. "I'm not sure you would be of any use to Abby if you're dead."

Charles looked away. "Go away."

"What should I tell your mother when you go insane?" Tom pressed mercilessly, "That she should feel proud because a stranger's little girl is alive? Do you think that would make the pain of losing her son any less?"

"Go away!" A vase full of flowers crashed to the floor in Charles' anger. A testament of his lack of control at the moment.

Tom left.

-0-

"Mr Winter, I'm sorry but I can't prescribe you any more calming draughts. I gave you enough at the start of the year to calm your fear of ghosts."

Tom stopped walking rather abruptly. Fear of ghosts? Calming draughts? Tom felt fury bubbling in his chest. And worse, crashing disappointment.

"It was a rather traumatic experience…She almost died, you know."

The healer's voice softened, "Yes, well, maybe a few bottles to take edge off. You did a very noble thing."

Tom stepped out from his hiding place. "Calming draughts?" he asked innocently. Or at least tried, his hands trembled with fury and his voice was tight. "Wasn't that what you were taking with your orange juice?" he asked Charles with wide innocent eyes. Charles' venomous stare was hate filled.

"Orange juice?" the healer screeched, aghast. "Mr Winter! Mixing calming draughts with citric acid!" She looked ready to have a heart attack. Her shock gave away to a stony disposition. "I could believe it was an honest mistake from any other student but I know, _I know_, you know better. I'm sorry Mr Winter, you're off calming draughts and I shall be speaking to your mother about this." The healer stormed off to her office and slammed her door.

"I can't believe you did that," Charles looked at him with cold eyes. Rarely, if ever, Charles had looked at him like that.

"I can't believe I didn't notice it before: the naps in the middle of the day in far off places," he laughed without humour, "drinking orange juice at dinner. It's so obvious now." Tom said, mostly to himself.

"You had no right!" Charles was trembling.

"No right?" Tom whispered. "You're killing yourself!" he yelled. "Bloody hell, Charles, you promised you would stop!" Tom pushed his hair back angrily. It was two years ago all over again. "Why? Why now?"

Charles looked away.

"I'm so stupid. I thought you had changed." Charles didn't respond but flinched at the words.

After a long silence Tom nodded, "Fine," and walked away. He was not doing this again.

-0-

"If he wants to kill himself, he can. I'm not going to stop him this time," Tom said as he hurled a metal ball. It crashed the wall, cracking the rocks, and bounced back.

"He's not trying to kill himself," Abraxas countered from his post at the old, threadbare couch.

"No? Pray tell, what is he doing then?" Tom asked as he hurled the ball with twice the force. The wall trembled.

"Being stupid. Look I'm not saying I agree but…" Abraxas passed a hand through his short blond hair.

"But? But what?"

"Well…" Abraxas swallowed and looked at Tom with guilt, "we haven't been there, you know, me with…with Black and you with the sycophants you call friends. We haven't exactly been there."

"I've been there!" Tom shouted, "I have always been there! Every day. He could have talked to me at any time."

"Maybe we could go out more. Do more things. He's probably restless at the lack of activity. I know I felt caged the first year."

"The more times we go out or do magic the greater the possibility of getting caught."

"Well, what do you propose we do?" Abraxas snapped.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" Abraxas questioned, his eyebrows rose in disbelief.

"No. I'm tired. If he isn't going to fight for himself, I'm not going to fight his battles."

"Well." Abraxas uncrossed his legs and stood up gracefully. "That's that then." He walked out of the room, leaving Tom alone.

Tom threw the ball so hard it broke at the whole room trembled. Dust and particles fell off the ceiling but the room held.

Tom looked around the empty, grimy room with its broken sofa and old forgotten furniture and repeated, "Nothing."

-0-

Instead of the Howler or the expected letter full of disappointment and anger, Charles received a box in the morning post. His owl was looking at him expectantly and Charles gave him bread. There was no meat. War times and all that. With one scorching look the bird flew off.

"Is that your owl?" Nott asked with trepidation.

"No; I'm something shinny the bird collects. When the mood fits him, she might do me the honour of delivering mail," Charles responded matter-of-factly. Charles opened the box to find an assortment of art supplies and music instruments, shrunk to fit and a note that said that she expected something every week.

The short note worried Charles more than a long letter full of anger.

"What's your punishment?" Abraxas asked.

Tom was pointedly ignoring him.

"The healer talked to my mother and they both agreed on what they called 'productive punishment'. I'm to spend my free hours between classes at the infirmary, supposedly to help, but I know she just wants to keep an eye on me. Every other time the healer is busy I'm to be with a group or a teacher doing something 'productive'." Charles said with derision, glaring at the Head Table where the Healer glared back.

Thankfully the Healer could not speak about Charles' problems with anyone outside his family. Otherwise the whole castle would have known by now.

The morning bell sounded and the last students mingling at the breakfast table started filling out. It was uncomfortable walking, not with Tom, but in the same direction and not talking to each other. The tension between them had been high ever since Charles got out of the infirmary yesterday.

"Fine, all right! I'm sorry," Charles yelled in the middle of the crowded corridor. Tom looked ready to kill him and dragged him off to a secluded hallway. He hated public displays.

"Why?" Tom asked again.

Charles dragged a hand through his hair harshly. "I don't know, ok?" Charles walked a few paces and stopped with his back to Tom.

"Try."

"I just couldn't take it anymore. I hate the condescending attitude of the teachers, the lack of respect for the students, the lack of care. I wanted to kill them each time they sneered and said 'what else can you expect from a child whose parents were in prison'. Or squibs. Or Germans. Or any other chauvinistic slur. They sit in their high chairs and pat themselves in the back, feeling good about themselves for doing charity work in letting a few lowly half-breeds in."

Charles turned back and faced Tom with intense, angry eyes. "I want to throttle the next person who says I'm no better than an animal. And shove a wand up the arse of the next person that makes an innuendo because of my ancestry. I want to slowly slaughter every boy, girl, adult, that makes you feel unworthy and unwanted." Charles breathed deeply, "I'm not sure I can stop myself without the drugs."

After a long silence Tom smiled, "Welcome back, Charles. I've missed you."

Charles smiled, a bit self-deprecating, and seemed to sag in relief. "Only you, Tom. Only you can I tell my deepest, darkest wish of killing everyone in a ten-mile radius and is happy to have me back."

"What are friends for if not for helping you bury the bodies?" Tom said as they walked back to the classroom.

Charles laughed. From anyone else, it might have been taken as a jest, Charles was sure Tom was serious in his offering.

They were late. Tom did not seem to mind.

-0-

Things changed and stayed the same. The weather got colder. The occupants of Room 1 got used to the changes. And the teachers were having trouble stopping the fights in the corridors, which multiplied by twenty.

Hearing a violin in the middle of the night was a common occurrence in Slytherin. As well as finding half-finished paintings, paints, canvas and brushes around the common room, sometimes in their clothes.

Charles helped around the infirmary and when he was not there he was leader of the History club, founded by him. Unsurprisingly, it became very popular. Charles had a great talent for story telling, playing with shadows and fires to created effects. Teachers and students from every year showed up to watch.

He could also be seen outside often, practicing archery with Hagrid or flying with Abraxas no matter the weather.

It was Sunday afternoon and the cold was not stopping them from playing a game of rugby in the Quidditch pitch.

Charles, as the History club president and respected member, might have mentioned something about Rugby being invented by Wizards. With the state of ignorance in History after a century of a ghost teaching the class even the teachers couldn't contradict him. And he had a great record of being accurate in his facts, as the Ravenclaws were happy to tell anyone who would listen.

After long hours he had convinced the Healer sports, no matter how bloody, were really good for one's health. She was now the referee and had warned both teams that she would only threat life-threatening injuries, everything else they had to live with it or find a way to heal it themselves.

There were two teams differentiated by their colour of clothes, black and white team. Charles, Tom, Abraxas and twelve other boys from all ages and all Houses were on team Black. Thirty boys playing in total. Charles and Tom were the only first year playing. No one from second year was playing and only a few from third. The majority were fifteen, sixteen and seventeen. They were looking at the three small boys with cruel smirks.

This was going to be fun.

For the first time since arriving to Hogwarts, they didn't hold back. Charles kicked, tackled, punched and cursed. Tom was brutal. If he had the ball a clear path was left, as few were willing to take him head on. Abraxas had amazing agility and was almost impossible to catch. Charles was in seven fights and brawls, having started six.

"That was the sixth tackle, you old hag; give us the ball," Charles screamed at the Healer, unmindful of his manners. They were past that.

"We're playing Union, not League!" She screeched back, "Stop being a cry baby and get back to the game."

"I think she likes you," Abraxas commented. He had a split lip while Tom had a long gash in his arm.

Charles spit out blood. "I think so too."

They won, naturally but not after many injuries to both parties. Word of the game quickly spread and almost the entire school watched the last hour of the game under warming charms and heavy coats.

Charles felt fine, which was a weird experience. He looked out the green field with scattered snow, his mud filled shoes, panting chest and the cheering crowd and maybe, for the first time, he felt his age. No work, no stress, no life-threatening situation, no sisters to take care of or big plans to plot, just a game of rugby.

He was beginning to understand why his mother had insisted on him coming here and maybe, just maybe, accepting that it was doing him some good.

Apart from the fact that the game ended with a high number of students limping and one losing team, everyone was in high spirits.

Things slowly started to get better and the fights diminished along with the slurs. It was not perfect, he often longed for an escape from the tedium, but he was working on it in healthier ways.

-0-

Abraxas' birthday came and with it a massive birthday party that Charles was able to gain permission because, according to the healer, it was good for his health to be 'involved'.

The room off the Great Hall was used and fifty students got invited. With Hyperion's help, food was abundant and a popular teen band, Creatures of the night, played.

When the song '_Do it like'_ came everyone went wild.

"Do it like a Centaur," Charles sang at the top of his lungs, doing a vague, very vague, and bad, imitation of a horse. When the chorus 'Do it like a flobberworm' came Charles was dragged off by an embarrassed Tom.

The party was a smashing success.


	39. Chapter 39: Handing over control

Chapter 39: Handing over control

Everyone in the first year dorm, Room 1, was almost accustomed of the by now normal eccentricities of one Charles Winter and what, exactly, meant to live with both Riddle and Winter. It was an on-going joke in the dormitories that Room 1 was cursed because of the strange noises and lights that could be heard and seen at night.

This was not far from the truth. It was indeed cursed. Cursed to have Winter and Riddle inhabiting it for the duration of the year. It was a sad day when Room 1 occupants Lestrange, Flint and Nott discovered that roommate assignment was permanent. In other words, they were stuck with Riddle and Winter as roommates for the next seven years.

In their defence, it could be said that not a boring day went by. There was not a day Riddle and Winter were not fighting for or against something, more commonly each other. It was better for everyone involved when they fought each other, at least then they were too concentrated on each other to do anything else, like torment _them_.

It came as no surprise that Winter had the dorm room with obnoxiously bright light for an entire night. It was the sort of thing they had gotten used to. Almost.

They were _almost_ used to Charles muttering to himself as he worked on some 'grand' experiment that almost always produced no results. And _almost_ used to waking up in the middle of the night because of a sudden crash or explosion, and fully expected Charles' colourful cursing afterwards.

They anticipated hearing of it when something went right. Or when something went wrong in the form of long rants.

And knew that the beautiful music of a violin only came when Charles needed to think. It was _almost_ comforting in its normality. Almost, but not quite.

By now they all recognized the crazed look of 'I have a brilliant idea and won't sleep _or let you sleep_ until I have done whatever I wanted to do'. It didn't mean that they stopped glaring, and then glaring a little harder when Charles did not seem to notice.

Their oblivious roommate was as loved as he was hated. One moment they hated him with all their sleep-deprived hearts and the next Charles would do something small and stupid that would nevertheless endear him to them, like remember whose mother was sick or how they liked their potatoes.

Something trivial that showed that he was there and saw them and noticed them, that he was not too lost in his own world that consisted of solely of Riddle, experiments, music and sports to take notice of how they liked their bloody potatoes.

The only one who seemed unperturbed by the nightly rituals of Winter was Riddle. It was expected if they thought about it: Riddle has lived with Winter all of his life. But it still shocked them.

Riddle loved order, he was anal about the littlest things. And Winter breathed chaos. Their personalities seemed destined to clash. It was hard to understand how such a cold-hearted person like Riddle could come to care for such an eccentric, but generally affable person like Winter.

Even after months of close-quarter living with both Winter and Riddle it was hard to see their easy familiarity and closeness. Even in their worse fights there was something intimate about it. That they were fighting because they cared too much to leave it alone.

It was baffling. One of the mysteries of Hogwarts.

It was early morning on their last Monday before winter break and everyone in Room 1 was awake and in bad humour after a sleepless night courtesy of Charles Winter.

"I almost have it!" He was blabbering, hair in disarray, yesterday's rumpled clothes and a wild look in his eyes, "It was the sub-atomic mechanical properties of the metal creating an electro-magnetic field that was disturbing the magical field. It was so obvious!"

It was scary how fast the other three other boys in the room got used to ignoring the gibberish that came out of Winter's mouth. They had stopped trying to make sense of the words a long time ago. It was simply not worth the headache.

"Yes, Charles," Riddle responded idly, obviously not listening.

Charles did not notice and continued talking. Riddle opened Winter's trunk and took out the day's clothes for the boy. Riddle carefully set them on the bed and started opening the buttons of Winter's white oxford shirt.

Winter, oddly used to this treatment and far too gone in his excitement to care, continued gesticulating wildly and talking. After opening the shirt Tom wrestled it out of the red-eyed boy. No one blinked an eye, so used to them behaving this way.

"Then, I only needed to insert the capacitor and _it worked!_" Charles exclaimed, black hair bouncing in time with his excitement.

"That's nice." Tom responded absentmindedly while he pushed Charles' arms into the new, clean shirt and started to button it.

"It still needs testing of course, I will be doing that the rest of the day."

"Charles, _class_. Remember?" Riddle asked with equal parts exasperation and irritation. Nott often compared Riddle's treatment of Winter as someone taking care of the dog they never wanted but were stuck with.

"Class?" he asked, bewildered. A sudden moment of comprehension, "Ah, I'm sick." He coughed weakly.

"We have a test today."

"A test?" Winter asked in confusion. The word seemed foreign on his lips. Maybe it was.

"Yes," Tom responded as he knotted the green silk tie around Charles' neck with practiced ease. Charles slapped his hand when Tom reached to unbutton the trousers.

"I can do it myself," Charles snapped and glared.

"Then do it." Tom snapped back.

Fifteen minutes later Charles had clean trousers and pants but walked back in socks, _matching_ socks since Tom had picked them, to his experiment with a new idea and completely forgot he was in the middle of dressing himself.

Tom forcedly dragged him back, sat him on the bed and put his black leather shoes while the boy was busy studying a page with the latest experimental model. The room smelled like coffee. A smell the other three boys had gotten used to identifying.

Months ago, they had been strangers. They hadn't met Winter or Riddle, had not lived with them or even known their names. Good, old times.

They forgot what was like to be pampered princes and became used to bumping into strange metal things –not question their existence, having paint in their clothes –without ever painting a single parchment, and ducking –ducking was important.

In that time Lestrange, Nott and Flint had become adept at many things. One of them was hiding sweets and coffee from their hyperactive roommate to stop this sort of thing from happening in the first place. They had bonded over their shared misfortune.

The panic they went through every time someone offered Winter sweets was akin to the panic someone might experience in a life-threating situation. Usually they were very good at diffusing potentially dangerous situations but last night a Hufflepuff girl had slipped through their defences and gifted Winter with four treacle tarts.

Treacle tarts! Everyone knew that Charles couldn't help eating all the treacle tart in the table. Adjoining tables if he could reach them. Teacher's table if they were careless.

Another thing they had become adept was keeping their thoughts to themselves. Riddle, they had found, could hold a grudge for weeks. And Winter was stronger than he looked.

"If I'm forced to be in your presence the least you can do is smell good," Tom muttered as he bodily dragged Charles to the bathroom and then, kicking and screaming, to breakfast.

It was sullen and petulant Charles that was looking a toast as if it was a mortal enemy. One glare from the Healer had him biting the toast. He didn't want to be on constant supervision again.

Tom asked about his experiment and his anger was easily forgotten. This too, they had gotten used to. The going from '_I'm so angry I can kill you_' to singing '_friends for life'_ at the drop of a hat.

"Do you have your wand?" Tom asked with wide eyes as they entered the transfiguration classroom.

"My what?" Charles asked, confused at the sudden change in conversation. A few snorts and derisive laughs were heard from the rest of the class that had _not_ been listening in their conversation. They were _not_ the center of the world.

"Your wand Charles! Today is a practical exam."

Charles started patting his pockets and Tom moaned. He had dressed Charles, the wand was not on him.

"Check your bag," Tom suggested as the professor entered. It was not there either.

"I'll use yours." Charles whispered. Tom refrained from banging his head on the desk. Dumbledore went from table to table to test each student. The rest were using the time to practice.

"You are going to take someone's eye out if you keep waving that thing around." Charles snapped.

"It's a wand!" The Hufflepuff responded with an up-turned nose.

"It is a wand when you can do magic with it, until then it's an useless stick only dangerous if you stick it into someone's eye socket."

"What would you know? You're only a half-breed."

"Careful with that table. It sometimes likes to attack." The Hufflepuff rubbed her red forehead in pain.

Tom glared at Charles for using wandless magic so carelessly. Charles glared back with tired, red eyes.

"Mr Winter, where is your wand?" Dumbledore asked when Tom finished transfiguring the matchstick to a needle successfully.

"Ah…I'm not entirely sure to be honest," Charles answered with a sheepish smile that almost always got him out of trouble. Not this time though. And never with Dumbledore.

Dumbledore looked at him disapprovingly.

"When was the last time you remember having it?"

"A week…or two…ago." The students laughed and Dumbledore scowl deepened. "Well, is not like we use it or anything." Charles defended, "With no magic in half the classes and rules prohibiting from using it in the halls and dorms I often times forget I have it at all."

Dumbledore did not seem impressed and went on an hour-long discussion of the importance of always carrying your wand and their new responsibilities as wizards-in-training. When even the most studious of students got glassy eyes Dumbledore sighed resignedly and stopped lecturing.

"How did you plan to take the exam without a wand, Mr Winter?"

"Using Tom's wand."

"A wand is a personal artefact, as close to the wizard as his family."

"Then it's fortunate that Tom is family."

"Did you listen at all when I explained that a wand only works for its owner?" Dumbledore asked in a very put-upon manner, taking out his half-moon glasses and cleaning them to stop himself from getting too mad. They were only kids after all.

"Yes, sir. But I have practiced before with Tom's wand and it works just as well."

"It does?" Dumbledore asked with surprise, "By any chance did one of you have saved the other's life?" he asked with academic curiosity.

"Well, there was that time with the bunnies... I thought I was a goner then."

"Bunnies?" Dumbledore asked wearily, his excitement fading. A few students laughed.

"They were big, at least ten pounds."

"And there was the time Charles stopped me from making an unfortunate remark about Abby's dress. It was a close call." Tom continued with the game.

"I almost thought I had lost you," Charles continued in mock sadness, putting a hand in Tom's shoulder. "I would have spoken fondly of you at the funeral. Not one speck of truth would have coloured my words."

Tom looked at Charles flatly. "Nice to know you have my back."

"Very well," Dumbledore interrupted tiredly, "I will let you try it if Mr Riddle permits you the use of his wand. But the next time you forget to bring your wand it will be an automatic zero."

Tom passed Charles his wand without hesitation.

"Well done, Mr Winter." Dumbledore said when the matchstick turned to a perfect if not a little _too sharp_, needle.

-0-

It was the last day of practical work for potions and the day they had to hand over their finished product.

"So if all of our predictions are correct this potion has the power to…" Charles could not bring himself to finish the sentence. It was too horrifying. And he had seen many horrors in his short life. He looked at his notes once again.

It was impossible, but there was only one possible outcome.

"To allow males to conceive." Tom finished, a green tint to his face. A cold shiver ran through both of them. They stared in open terror at the innocent-looking pale pink potion.

It was one of those rare moments when they completely agreed upon a route of action and no words were needed. As one they took the cauldron full of potion out of the fire and vanished it. Then they took all of their notes and burned them until there was nothing left, not even the ashes.

"We tell no one of this," Tom whispered. Charles, pale face and shaky hands, nodded.

An hour later Slughorn came to their table and asked them what they had created.

"A window cleaner," Tom said with a straight face. They allowed the professor to inspect their clear blue potion.

"A…window cleaner?" Slughorn asked with a frown. With a sad shake of his head he said, "I expected more out of the two of you."

"It is a _really_ good window cleaner," Charles defended.

They accepted their Acceptable for their final project with no complain and trotted off to History of Magic.

The thoughtful silence Tom had on their way to the classroom worried Charles. At last Tom sighed remorsefully and Charles cracked.

"I'm kind of worried about what you are thinking," Charles admitted.

"We could have fed Slughorn that potion and then a lust potion to Dumbledore. Trapped them both on a broom closet."

A surprised laugh escaped Charles before he could hold it.

"That would have been one ugly baby," Charles said with frown, and hurriedly added, "And cruel. That would have been _cruel_."

"If you think about it," Charles waited for the brilliant justification of a cruel act. Tom did not disappoint. "It would be the only way for either of them to have sex or have any hope of procreating. In a way, we are doing _them_ a favour."

Charles squashed his amusement. Cruel, he reminded himself, not funny at all.

"Gross, Tom. I don't want to think about Slughorn, or Dumbledore's lack of sex," Charles responded as they entered the History of Magic classroom.

Charles was honestly surprised Tom was speaking so casually about sex. Tom still considered it a taboo even after all of these years with Charles working hard on embarrassing –cough, educating him.

"He gave us an Acceptable, Charles. He deserves it."

At the exact strike of the hour the ghostly professor glided in through the blackboard. They shared the class with Hufflepuff, and with just a minute of the professor's drone words the students dropped their heads to sleep. It was more effective than a sleeping spell.

Like every class since halfway into the term, Charles and Tom sat in the exact center of the room. They had a game for this class, and it was the last class of history of Magic with Professor Binns before Yule break thus their last chance at winning.

They would write runes on small pieces of parchment and throw them to the oblivious ghost. If all the pieces of parchments, with all sixty-five runes perfectly drawn, formed an exact circle around the ghost (starting from North and going counter-clockwise), the ghost would be forcedly exorcized.

A few times they had gotten close but each time the ghost would move from position. There was a spell that could keep the ghost frozen in place, but what was the fun in that?

The majority of the class ignored their antics. The professor never seemed to notice, or care, and they saw little fun in throwing little balls of paper to an oblivious ghost.

Class passed quickly, with Charles and Tom growing more a more agitated. Sweat formed in their forehead and they were almost standing in their sits. Their eyes fixed on the almost completed circle with delight and tension.

With only seconds for the bell to sound they were at rune sixty-three. Sixty-four was thrown by Tom, it wobbled slightly, but ultimately settled in place at an angle of sixty-four degrees in the fourth region.

Charles threw sixty-five, the last rune.

In slow motion they saw it fly through the air, they inched forward in their sits with eager anticipation, milliseconds away from reaching its destination the bell sounded and a jittery Gryffindor catapulted from his sit to reach the door first, and in the process, ruined the alignment of three runes before the last had the chance to set.

Charles sighed in disappointed and sagged in his chair. Tom almost screamed in frustration. They had been so close.

"Well, until next year then." Charles gathered his books and stuffed them in his bag.

"We have seven more years," Tom said, looking at the ghost with a promise in his eyes.

-0-

**December, last week of term.**

Charles was tired and angry. They both were. They had been fighting for over a week. The only difference from every other time they fought was that Charles did not know _why_ they were fighting. Every day it started with something different. And when they were not fighting the air was tense and stifling, so much so that their roommates had started to avoid them.

Sometimes they had to put space between them. Go for hours, even days, without speaking to each other. Sometimes it became too much. _They _were too much. Too destructive, too stubborn, too arrogant. So when Tom started avoiding him, Charles let it be.

The block that sent the pyramid crumbling was when Charles entered the common room to see _Tom M. Riddle_ in the list of students staying at Hogwarts.

"You're staying?" Charles asked –almost shouted since Tom was on the other side of the room. Heads turned around at his proclamation.

Tom looked at him coldly from his perch on the black leather couch. "How is that your problem?"

Charles opened and closed his mouth a few times, unbelieving. "What do you mean it's not my problem? Of course is my problem."

"I have made my decision; I'm staying. Please go away, some of us are trying to study." Tom's face was closed and his tone was cold and dismissing.

"The hell I am!" Charles shouted, by now the entire common room was listening. Tom closed his book with a snap and roughly dragged Charles to their room, closing the door with a slam.

"Stop making a ridicule of yourself!" At least he sounded angry, which was much better than cold and detached.

"What the hell has gotten into you?" Charles screamed, finally reaching his breaking point. "You've been unbearable all week and now you are staying at Hogwarts? I'm not a bloody mind reader Tom! I can't always guess what the hell happens inside that mind of yours."

"I wouldn't want to intrude in your family time." Tom spat, his eyes a little more shinny than usual. "Now you can have everything you wanted without me there to ruin the picture perfect family moment! Isn't that what you always wanted?" Tom was red and panting.

"No," Charles said, suddenly deflated and tired. Tom gathered himself and turned his back to Charles, intending to exit their dorm room.

"You _have_ to come. Who will disparage King George's Christmas speech if you are not there? Or put cockroaches in the crackers? Or set on fire Penelope's desert before anyone can die of food poisoning? Or make sure that all of the ornaments in the tree are in a perfect ninety-degree angle and arranged by colour? You know that I'll just thrown them in."

Tom stopped walking away and turned back slightly. His fists tightly clenched. "I'm sure you can live without it." _Without me._

Charles frowned, not exactly sure how to explain it. "It's like _A Christmas Carol_ without Ebeneezer Scrooge."

"Nothing?"

"Well, I wouldn't say nothing," At Tom's look, Charles stopped, smiled sheepishly and amended, "You're totally right, nothing."

"And you know mama." Charles continued, "She'll cry if you don't come. Think is her fault somehow. That you hate her or something."

Tom looked back, something like relief in his eyes. "Can't make her cry now, can't I?" he smiled somewhat and Charles smiled back tentatively. "And I can't let you decorate the tree. You'll ruin it."

"You know I will."

-0-

"I don't like morning people," Tom said from across his sit in the Great Hall. He was glaring at a particular loud student. Useless since every student was being loud. They were going home for the holidays.

"That would actually imply you liking any sort of people," Charles responded from behind his newspaper.

Charles was able to finish reading the newspaper without Tom's unhelpful comments in the ensuing sullen silence.

"Mr Winter, could I see you in my office after you finish your breakfast?" Dumbledore asked. Charles lowered the paper and looked back.

"Alright, Professor."

"Know what that's about?" Tom asked as he fiddled with his tea.

"No idea."

"Anything interested in there?" Tom pointed at the paper.

"Nott won the election. And our Yule Charity party appears as the It place to be this winter season. Apparently. I'm not too sure myself. I have half a mind to not go."

"Nott won?" Tom questioned in surprise, ignoring the second half. "But he was a horrible Minister the first term, why would they think he'd do better a second term?" Tom scoffed, "That's why I don't believe in democracy. People are stupid."

"The people deserve the government they elect." Charles quoted, "Besides, dictatorship only works if the dictator is competent and the people love him." Charles looked at Tom with fake concern, "Work hard on the second one."

Tom threw him a grape, which Charles grabbed off the air and popped it into his mouth with a smug grin.

Abraxas arrived at the breakfast table dishevelled.

"Don't ask," was the only thing he said before he started pulling food to his plate.

"Don't tell," Tom sneered.

Abraxas opened his mouth, "Well since you asked so nicely…"

"This is my cue to leave." Charles quickly got up. He made his way to Dumbledore's office off the side of the transfiguration classroom and knocked on the door.

"Enter," a muffled voice said. Charles did and sat on the chair in front of the desk to wait while Dumbledore finished putting his silver trinkets in a box.

"What did you wish to talk about, professor?" Charles prompted. He still had packing to do.

"Well, you see, Mr Winter, I have a favour to ask of you," he waited expectantly.

"And I'll be glad to hear it," Charles responded promptly.

Dumbledore chuckled, "Spoken like a true Slytherin." No, like a politician.

Charles looked at Dumbledore blandly, waiting for the man to continue. Dumbledore opened a drawer and took out a letter.

"I need you to hand this letter to your Uncle."

"I'm not a post owl, Professor Dumbledore, as I'm sure you have noticed."

Dumbledore took a lemon sorbet. Talking to this child was never easy and often times, exasperating.

"I noticed you're not a post owl, but your Uncle has proven to be quite hard to reach and I need to communicate with him promptly."

"Have you actually sent any letters?"

"Many. His secretaries are very polite, but unfortunately, they are not he. And I need to speak to him. Privately."

"I'm deeply sorry, professor, but the protocol is placed for a reason. Letters can be very dangerous. I'm sure you understand."

"I can assure you, this letter is not dangerous in any way." Dumbledore pushed the letter to him but Charles did not touch it.

"Nevertheless, professor. I wouldn't want the safety protocols that my family placed for their freedom and peace be compromised because I went against the rules." Charles smirked, "Rules are very important, you know. As you have seen fit to remind me every day."

Dumbledore looked pained, as he often looked when he had to speak with Charles for longer than half a minute.

Charles, a little curious, relented. "If you tell me what you wish him to know, I will pass on the message."

"Can you promise me that?" Dumbledore insisted, looking at Charles over his half moon glasses.

"I can most assuredly promise you that whatever I hear, he will hear it too."

"Your mother is hosting a Yule party," Dumbledore started.

Charles mouth dropped, "This is what this is about. The party?"

_Unbelievable…him too? _

"It is of great importance that your Uncle permits the Aurors to supervise it."

"Aurors? You want _Aurors_ at a charity event?"

"Very dangerous people are going to be attending that party. It could be the perfect opportunity to end the war."

Charles face closed up. "No."

"No?" Dumbledore questioned, surprised.

"No. Good day, professor." Charles stood up.

"You don't understand!"

"I understand perfectly." Charles hissed. "You want to bring _your_ war to my house! You want a bloodbath, because that is what that will become, in _my home_, with my _mother_ and my sisters attending, not to mention other squibs, children and elderly."

There was no sudden drop in temperature, no flickering lights, no outward sign of hysterical magic. No, Charles was too good, too in control for that sort of last time he had lost control had been under impossible circumstances – A dark ritual to bring an army from another Realm, and even then he had to be repeatedly provoked by a healer to attack in an uncontrolled, instinctual manner. No, Charles was calm. Too calm. Too controlled. But angry enough to kill Dumbledore for the suggestion.

"I can promise their safety," Dumbledore said sagely.

Charles scoffed. _As if I would ever trust you with their safety!_

"_A war_, Mr Winter. We are talking about finishing a war that has left many orphans and no matter what you think, it's _everyone's_ war. Your parents are deeply involved, so is your uncle. Your younger sister will be staring Hogwarts soon and you and your brother have another six more years here. If the war reaches us, it will be everyone's problem."

Charles laughed humourlessly. "The war has already reached us and it is already too late. A thousand years too late to be exact. The battle is only to win the right to lead. The war over blood supremacy has already been won. How many muggleborns are invited each year? How many of them accept? How many are still here by their fifth year? How many Half-bloods make their life in the muggle world? Face it, if not Gellert Grindelwald, then another will come and then another. My house will not serve as your playground, Professor Dumbledore. Go play hero some place else."

"Then, what do you suggest, Mr Winter? That we throw down our hands and summit to the horrors that are, by your definition, our own creation?"

Charles walked forward until he bumped with the desk and was close to Dumbledore's face. "I suggest that for the first time in your life, you see the world as it is, not as you want it to be. Then, maybe, you'll be able to make a real change."

"You are confused and lost." The professor looked at Charles with sad eyes that made Charles want to scoop them out. "War is a complicated matter, not fit for young ears. I don't know what I'm thinking, talking about such things with you."

_Now_ war was complicated. Condescending prick.

"I am hoping your uncle is more reasonable. Either way it's going to happen. Minister Nott is ready to handle this war with a strong hand."

Charles sneered. Fool. Minister Nott just wants to be seen doing something, anything, after his huge blunder of ignoring the war that almost cost him the re-election. With his recently obtained post, he'll want to look good at whatever cost. Even grant permission to attack at a charity event hosted by squibs. What does he care if they are killed in the process? They're just squibs.

"Good luck with that." Charles turned to the door.

"When all of this is over," Dumbledore said to his back, "I hope you realize that I'm only doing everything I can to protect our world. And even if I gain your hate in the process, you can be sure I will do everything I can to protect you, your family and your rights."

Charles looked back, feeling a hundred years old. "The sad thing is, professor, that I understand you are doing this because you _think_ is the best course of action and that you truly believe what you say: That this is all for the better, that stopping one man will make every bad go away." Charles sighed, "I understand you are not bad. You are just bad at being good."

-0-

"Charles, what are you doing here?" the healer asked, looking up from her papers.

"To say goodbye. And to thank you, for everything."

The truth was the healer could have sent him packing. Substance abuse was not tolerated at the school. But she hadn't, and she had helped him a lot. Healing things that he hadn't known were broken. He was not doing things just because it would make his mother happy or because he had a responsibility towards his family or job, but for himself, because he needed them. Needed to heal.

She came from around the desk and stood in front of him. She took his face in her hands tenderly.

"Every time I see your angelic face…I'm reminded why I never want to have children. Now scram; I have things to do and you have a mother to terrorize."

"You love me," Charles assured her with a cheeky smile.

"Shoo!" Charles laughed and got out of her hair. For now.

-0-

Charles got out of the train and stretched his crammed muscles.

"Are they coming for us or are we supposed to walk there?" Tom asked bitingly.

It had been a long ride. They were tired. Tom got cranky when he was tired.

"They're coming with Hyperion but they sent word this morning that they were arriving late because Hyperion was at a meeting with the new minister."

"Great. Just great." Tom left Charles to stand with his friends and Charles went to look for their baggage. Charles just finished grouping all of their trunks and bags in a corner when Jim Ross approached him.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Mr Ross," Charles said, siting on top of his trunk. "For what it's worth I think you would have made a great Minister."

"That's alright. I'm an old man past his prime with no significant fortune." He sat on Tom's trunk and Charles was glad when the trunk did not swallow him.

"If it's not too imprudent of me, why did you decide to run for Minister?"

Ross looked out the crowd of students, parents and pets that was slowly clearing out of the familiar train station.

"That day, when I almost lost my family, a lot of things changed." He shook his head, "No, that's not true. Nothing changed, but I did. I waited for more than an hour for someone to find us, for help to arrive. I saw how a lot of people who could have been saved die because help didn't arrive soon enough." Ross stopped talking and looked at Charles.

"When I worked as an Auror, and then as Head of the Auror Department, I thought I was doing some good, that I was changing our world, but I was not. Nothing I did still stands today. That day I realized that the wizarding world was not prepared for any disaster. Neither its citizens nor government has ever prepared itself for adversity."

"And then you had your case court for injuring a healer and I started thinking about everything else. Laws I protected. People I supressed in the name of Law and public security… I guess this old fool wanted to make a change. But I figured it all out too late."

Charles smiled, "Young or old, we are all fools."

"You are just trying to make me feel better."

"Maybe. Are you staying with me because you want to meet my parents?"

"Maybe."

"They're arriving late."

"I have time." Ross looked out to his grandchildren. They were talking with their parents and looking at him from the corner of their eyes. Wondering.

Charles looked at Ross considerately. "Do you still want to change the world?"

Ross looked back at him in confusion and some surprise. "Of course, but what could I possibly do? Nott won and he won't let me have a job at the ministry."

"I think I have a job for you." Charles smiled slightly, "But it's not for the faint of heart."

"Sounds ominous."

"If you're interested send me a letter and we can talk more about it. See if you truly are serious about changing the world." Charles looked past Ross. "My parents arrived."

And if Charles gulped, it was only fitting. He was in a lot of trouble with his parents and had a lot of explaining to do.

-0-

"Whose a big bad snakie? Whose a big bad snakie?" Annabelle cooed in a babyish tone as she entered the front door and was greeted by a massive snake. The huge deadly snake slithered back and forward in a hypnotizing movement, his poison green eyes on Annabelle.

"_I am! I am! I am a big bad snakie_." To Annabelle this sounded like a lot of hisses, but she knew they were not aggressive in nature.

"You'd been so good recently," Annabelle cooed, touching the head of the snake that was larger than her hand.

"_No! No! I'm big and bad! Big and Bad. Big and __baaaad_!"

"Good snakes get big fat rats."

"_I'm good! I'm good! The goodest of them all. Oh, so good is snakie_."

Annabelle smiled at the over excited snake. He was undulating and hissing. She walked away, knowing without looking that the snake will follow her until said rat was produced.

Tom watched the scene unfold in abject horror while Charles tried to supress his laugh.

"I leave a deadly snake in your mother's care for a few months and she turns it into a puppy," Tom whispered in misery.

"Yes; she has a history of taming wild beasts." Frank said from behind them. He looked pointedly at both boys. Charles and Tom looked pointedly back.

"Yes," Tom drawled, "She even had the temerity of marrying one of such beasts."

Frank spluttered. But the boys disappeared up the stairs before he could think of an answer.


	40. Chapter 40: Truths from lies

Chapter 40: Truths from lies

Arriving home was like the cool, fresh feeling of applying balm to sunburn. It was like he was seeing the house for the first time. Everything was sharper than he remembered, brighter.

Hogwarts had been beautiful with the snowy landscape, but home was something else entirely. While the castle had been dark and cold with harsh winds and the dungeons humid and freezing, home was bathed in sunlight that entered the floor to ceiling windows in every room. It was kept pleasantly warm with fireplaces cracking in every corner and windows tightly shut. It had a permanent smell of baked deserts and pine.

It was _home_.

Every corner of the manor was decorated for the season, full of traditional colours, lights, toys and seasonal plants. Except that instead of having one religion the house was adapted to celebrate the beliefs of everyone who lived in it, be it Jewish, Christian or Pagan. It made the house all the more interesting. Not just an ancient manor, but also a place full of life, love and memories. A reflection of the people who lived there, different but in harmony. It was a very merry and festive atmosphere that welcomed them back.

The welcoming dinner was like Heaven and Treacle tart all in one. The food, merciful God, Merlin and associates, _the food!_

The dinner table was full of people, his family and extended family. Some of the families and people who lived and worked in his 1,000 acres of land had also joined them. The mood was calmed, relaxed and joyful; there was nothing formal about it. The maids serving and taking away the plates often stayed to talk and when there was no more work to be done, sat and ate as well. The table groaned under the amount of plates. It was a loud, chaotic mess. Little children ran around and hid under the tables. Grown ups laughed and joked in a variety of languages, those who knew more than one often serving as interpreters.

Charles hadn't spoken since he saw the food, neither had Tom. The adults looked at them with amusement as Charles moaned in delight for the third time in a minute. It was decided. He was never leaving home again.

"I'm going to marry whoever made the Treacle tart," Charles said after his second helping.

"It was Bobby," his mother told him in amusement.

"We could make it work," Charles told the teenager. "I'm not the jealous type," he then told Bobby's girlfriend.

"I'm going to puke," Tom said from besides him. He did look a bit green and glassy eyed.

"Shouldn't have that third serving of pork. Or that fourth plate of steamed rice." Charles chastised as he reached for more treacle tart while his mother was distracted talking.

Tom put a hand in his mouth at the mention of food. After a moment it passed, and Tom served himself one more chocolate éclair. "One more", Tom promised, "the last."

Charles only got two bites of the treacle tart before his father took his plate away. Charles glared at the back of Frank's head. But smiled when one of the new boys, John, a thirteen-year-old son of a new farmer, passed him his treacle tart. John's pale green eyes danced with mischief. Charles, quick as lighting, stuffed the tart in his mouth before someone could take it away, looking very much like a hamster and having trouble chewing.

The walk back to his room was a long one.

"Ow. Ow. My belly. It hurts." Charles moaned as he curled in his bed. Tom was somewhere puking his guts out. Too much rich food after almost starving at school was a bad decision. "But so worth it," he murmured.

-0-

_**First day of vacation, The Talk**_

Tom pushed off the wall when the door opened and Charles came out from his 'talk' with his parents.

"How it went?" Tom asked.

Charles winced, "Not good."

"Tom," Annabelle called from the door. Tom went entered The Room, different from every other room because it was where they were called if they were in trouble, and Charles tagged along.

"Let's talk about school. Anything you want to tell us?" She waited expectantly but neither boys denied nor confirmed her suspicions.

"The teachers all talked highly of you." She frowned, "They spoke very highly of both of you when I asked." She included Charles in the glare. "It makes me very suspicious. I think they weren't paying enough attention. If they were they would have been asking me, nay, paying me, to remove both of you from the school."

"The healer, apparently the only one I can trust to be honest, did not include too many details. But other than that one alteration, which we already talked about, she had nothing else to tell me."

"Maybe they behaved," Frank defended them with a shrug and a secret smile for them. Annabelle looked unbelieving while trying to not look too sceptical.

"Come on Anna, its good news. They did not destroy the school. Let it go."

Annabelle sighed and smiled, "Alright, alright. Let's celebrate the school is still standing." She looked sharply at Charles, "I want better grades from you." And more softly at Tom, "Congratulations on your perfect scores, Tom."

"So," she smiled widely, a mad twinkle in her eyes, "have all of those pointy hats made your minds sharper?"

Charles groaned and dropped his head. Frank laughed and, rather reluctantly, Charles also laughed, breaking the tension on his chest from the rather difficult conversation he had with his parents.

"I'm sorry to say that your sense of humour has not improved. In fact, I think it has deteriorated." Tom stated matter-of-factly.

-o-

_**Second day of vacation,**_

Charles looked down. The fall was a long one.

With a deep breath and a salute to Tom on the ground, he pushed himself off the ceiling. The floor rushed towards him. Moments away from hitting the snow covered ground and becoming a red splash, he disappeared and appeared again a little way forward running. He was going so fast from the momentum from the fall that his feet barely touched the snow. 'Out of nowhere' a tree appeared. Charles hit the tree at full speed with only his arms in front of his face to protect himself. He crumpled to the snow and felt as all the snow that had previously covered the tree fell on top of his head.

"Ouch," he said pathetically. "Well, that was stupid."

When he managed to look up Tom was there, calmly standing by the tortured tree.

"It worked," Charles said unnecessarily. They were testing changing the position of the body in a jump, from horizontal to vertical.

"So I saw."

At Tom's lack of reaction, Charles felt the need to defend himself. "The tree just got in the way."

"I imagine. It has just been in the same place for over a hundred years. But I'm sure it moved just to spite you."

"It could have," Charles argued sullenly.

"Are you alright?"

Both Tom and Charles turned at the voice. A group of adults were rushing towards them.

"I'm doomed." Charles said. There was no way his mother was not going to hear of this.

-0-

"Why? Oh, why Lord, are children born with magic?" Annabelle bemoaned. "You two are dangerous enough without adding the magic to the mix. Please, _please_, behave! No more jumping out of the roof, no, not for your safety, for mine! No more explosives inside or outside the house. No more experimenting on your sister. Stop making the paintings talk. It is _highly_ annoying. Go play with cards. Quietly! If I see another fire, you both will be grounded until God Himself comes to Earth and frees you."

"What god, specifically, are we talking about?" Charles asked.

"I mean it Charles! One more shenanigan and I'll have your hide!"

-0-

"She was rather unreasonable about it," Charles told his father afterwards, "wouldn't even tell me what 'god' I should summon. The list is rather large. I wouldn't want to have to start with 'A' and work my way down."

"That mother of yours!" Frank scoffed, "So unreasonable!"

"You're mocking me." Charles stated with a put-upon frown.

"Nooo, of course not! I would never do such a thing."

Charles sighed.

-0-

_**Second day of vacation,**_

"Stop fighting! How many times do I have to tell you to stop fighting?!"

"Charles Gustav Winter, cease and decease this instant. Tom, drop that vase!"

"Not on the floor!" Annabelle looked at the broken vase on the floor. "That's it! Both of you, in here. You both are confined to this room for the rest of the day. I want you both to think about ten ways you can…hmmm… better the world! Yes, that's it. Ten ways you can create and do good things rather than destroy." Annabelle left them, with the door open for better supervision.

When Frank checked on the boys an hour later he found three 'ghost' buildings, rather like a building made solely of light floating in the air, and the walls covered with detailed maps for a hospital, an orphanage and a school, complete with lists of permission needed, lists of personnel and a lot of discarded papers. He looked around the room, found a rather large list of all the cons of dealing with the government and finally, plans to make an island and evade the law that way.

"Papa!" Charles called him. Frank had missed seeing him because he was hunched over a desk working on a small, blue glowing cube. Frank nodded but his eyes were locked on the ghost buildings that moved around the room. Right before his eyes an island appeared in the centre of the room. "Wow," he breathed.

"Something the matter?" Tom asked with a frown.

"Nothing wrong," Frank said and with a hesitant hand touched the blue glowing island. He felt nothing, but the segment he touched enlarged and a long sequence of numbers blinked to existence right next to it.

"What are you guys doing?" Frank asked with wonder as he investigated, played, with the building.

"Mom said to think something, anything, that bettered the world."

"I suggested we kill all the stupid people," Tom offered. "No offence," Tom added to Frank.

"None taken," Frank said with a frown.

"I think she only meant 'not destroy the house,'" Frank muttered. "How can I help?"

Tom and Charles looked at each other and had one of those silent conversations. In the end, Frank sat on the floor and played with the ghost buildings while Charles and Tom were busy with large equations that Frank could never begin to grasp. He shouted in excitement when he figured out how to rotate the buildings. Both boys looked up from their conversation on wards and the number seven and looked at Frank curiously.

Frank coughed and blushed, "I moved it," he explained.

Charles nodded with an amused smiled and Tom raised an eyebrow as to say 'and we built it from scratch.' Charles dropped from the desk he was siting on and picked up something that looked like a metal notebook. Charles handed it to Frank with instructions on how to modify and view the buildings.

With wide eyes, and completely forgetting to be the adult in charge, Frank played with the buildings to his heart's content. When Annabelle entered the room hours later she only found a distracted husband but no children on sight. She sighed and rubbed her face.

"Frank?" She heard a distracted grunt, "Where are the boys?"

"In a minute."

"Frank?"

"Yes?" Frank asked as he added a much-needed column for support to the third floor.

"The boys?"

"Who?" he briefly looked up and then down at the metal notebook, frowning. _There should be more support for the balcony, maybe if I just add... _

"_The boys_, Frank!" It was more the annoyed tone of voice than the words that filtered through.

"Oh! The boys they're right…" he looked around the room, "Um, they were here a moment ago."

Annabelle walked towards the window to see purple flames devouring the hundred-year-old tree in the back yard.

And wasn't it curious that she knew that purple flames meant a sulphur fire?

Being Charles's mother and the adopted mother of Tom made her very knowledgeable of such things. It was inevitable.

Frank stood besides her, watching as the flames slowly consumed the tree.

"At least is not inside the house," he said.

"I rather liked that tree."

"Those calming draughts are looking more and more tempting each day. I wonder if we can slip them in the food."

"_Frank!_" Annabelle cried, scandalised.

"Not for them," Frank defended, "_for us_."

_**A few days into vacation**_

Annabelle put her tea down with a frown. She looked suspiciously to the ceiling and then out the window. "Things are too quiet," she murmured. "They are up to something."

"Who, dear?" the elderly woman asked, also putting her tea down.

"My children," Annabelle explained, "I've never feared silence so much until my son was born. And then he found his equal in the form of another little boy with a love for fire. Then I truly felt the Fear of God."

The woman smiled understandingly, the wrinkles on her face pronouncing. "I understand perfectly, m'dear, I remember when my children…"

Annabelle stopped listening. She doubted any of the mothers here could come close to understanding. When they smelled almonds, Annabelle doubted their first thought was cyanide. She doubted that smoke in their house meant anything but a burnt pie.

When _she_ smelled smoke she hoped the whole house wasn't burning. Hell, she was happy when it was contained to one wing of the house.

Normal mothers dreamed of successful futures for their sons. Annabelle hoped the Earth still looked round when Tom and Charles finished playing with it. And rather than fantasy about the future grandchildren, Annabelle settled with them learning right from wrong.

"I'll be right back," Annabelle excused herself and hurriedly went to find two little boys and see what they were up to.

"What were you doing? And why are you covered in mud?" she asked when she finally found them walking back towards the house from the farm.

"Well, since Tom can talk to snakes we extrapolated that it was possible to talk to other animals. Cows are closely related to humans but more importantly: easily accessible. So we invented a spell that could temporarily give us the ability to understand their language." Charles glowered. "Suffice it to say, we are having steaks tonight."

Annabelle rubbed her temples, "Should I ask?"

Charles got a dark look, "It's better if you don't."

Annabelle threw her hands to the air. "Fine! It might be better for my sanity in the long run. Get changed, we have company."

"Wait!" she stopped them. "That reminds me, Tom, what have I told you about lying?" she asked, looking sternly.

Tom sighed loudly, a resigned air about him. "That is socially acceptable to lie in polite company and politically correct."

"Good boy. So, no telling Mrs Roberts that she is fat and annoying. Please do not remind Mr Raft that his hair is thinning and that no one cares about his stories. Just smile, nod and above all, _lie_."

Annabelle had once made the mistake of telling Tom to always be honest. Oh, how she had regretted those words. She had never been so embarrassed in all her life. Then Tom had looked at her with those beautiful brown eyes and told her that he was only doing what he had been told to: To always be truthful. She had learned a valuable lesson that day in parenting: sometimes, it was better for them to lie. Not always. But sometimes. Especially in company.

"Why can _he_ lie?" Charles asked sullenly.

"You," she looked at Charles, "remember what we talked about. Now run up stairs."

"I want to see proper shirts and trousers!" she yelled to their retreating backs.

_**Around one in the morning,**_

"I heard Leandro is going to the party. With Ana Catalina of all people. Did you hear they got engaged?" Leviathan was on his bed, as he had been for the past two hours.

"I thought you said you were over him?" Charles said from his position in the desk. He was looking at a sample of skin under his microscope.

"You can be so –ahg!" Leviathan said in exasperation. "You're lucky I like you so. Anyway, moving on from the impertinent comment, they are going to announce it this summer. Can you believe that?"

"Just out of curiosity, did he ever tell you or actually confirmed in some way that he was gay?"

"Well, no. But there were some heated looks."

"By any chance, was there any blood around?"

"You are impossible!"

"So I understand why you," meaning all vampires, "drink blood." Charles interrupted with an unrelated matter from the oh-so-important Leandro (which Charles knew more about than he was comfortable with), but related to his thought process.

"Something about fifty percent of the ndn." Leviathan stated with a decisive nod.

"Please don't ever quote me. And it's DNA and if your DNA were fifty percent different from mine you'd look more like a banana than a human. It's more like 0.050%. What I was saying, your blood lacks affinity for oxygen, when you stop drinking human blood not enough oxygen reaches your brain. It explains everything: the personality change, the aggressiveness, the rapid heartbeat and the eventual death if you do not feed. I also understand the whole 'rising from the grave' thing. Your skin absorbs metals, metals that are abundant in cemeteries because of all the convenient decomposing bodies that enrich the soil, which then adhere to the collagen in you body." For Leviathan's sake he explained. "Collagen is the most abundant of protein in the body, found cornea, cartilage, bone, blood vessels, the gut, intervertebral disc and muscles. Which explains the longer life span, the supernatural strength and speed. And it also explains the stretchy, hard skin and the superior eye sight."

Charles turned back and looked at Leviathan. "What I don't get is the adversity towards the sun. I have done every possible test: allergens, toxins, genetics, and nothing even remotely explains why Vampires avoid the sun." Charles looked at Leviathan expectantly.

They had a deal. Leviathan could laze around his room 'spying' –read: eating all of his supply of blood lollies and talking about his obsession and Charles could run tests on him to fill his lack of knowledge on Vampires.

"Obvious. Wrinkles. No one wants to reach a hundred and _look_ a hundred." Leviathan explained as if it was as clear as the sun.

"Wrinkles?" Charles asked with a frown.

"Dark spots, beauty marks, discolouration. Sun accelerates the effects of ageing. We like to look young for at least the first five hundred years." Leviathan sat in bed and inched towards the desk. He looked like he always looked when he had a secret or something scandalous to tell. "I once knew a vampire who fell in love with a muggle human. He went out into the sun every day for seventy years. He now has a line in his forehead. Heart-breaking."

"I'm sure you mean the lost of a love one and not the line on his forehead," Charles said dryly.

"Charles, this is no laughing matter. The man will have a line on his forehead for the rest of his life!"

"Tragic, I'm sure."

"What do you think I should wear to the party? I must look fabulous!"

Charles sighed resignedly and tried his hardest at blocking Leviathan's voice for the next hour.

"I got it! Bone marrow transplant!" Charles exclaimed excitedly, looking up from his journal. "From a healthy human donor, of course. Preferably one that smelled 'good' or 'appetising' to the vampire."

Vampires, like humans, developed a sense of smell that guides them to the right foods or situations. Like identifying as 'bad' or 'unappetising' something rotten or decomposing.

"What in the devil are you talking about? A bone coloured suit would look horrible on me, have you been listening at all?"

"Yes, yes, a dark royal blue would make your eyes stand out, but a bone marrow transplant could, in theory, supply your body with healthy red blood cells for the rest of your life. You'd still need supplements but I think it could work. Unless the body rejects it. That would be bad."

Leviathan looked at Charles thoughtfully. "You think navy blue makes my eyes stand out?"

Charles groaned. "Could you stop being narcissistic for just one moment?"

"That would defeat the purpose of being narcissistic."

And just like that, an idea that could have forever changed the world, saved millions of human lives and changed the Vampire race at its core was derailed, driven to a dark corner in Charles' mind and left to die. It was a good thing that he kept a journal of his findings.

Around four in the morning when Leviathan had finally left, Charles walked towards a crystal bookcase. Every journal he had ever kept was there. From the first one, a cheap old notebook written in a childish scratch to the newest leather bound books with cursive lettering. He opened the crystal door and stored the latest one, closing the door and warding it.

_**Two days later, **_

_**Wizarding Sector in München capital of Bavaria, Germany**_

"…So vote for me as your representative Wizard in the treaties and I would make that happen!" The handsome man with a full head of hair streaked with white clamoured, a winning smile on his lips and robes of the finest quality adorning his body. Sixty-six year old Gellert Grindelwald had not missed the opportunity to offer himself as the candidate Wizard representative for Germany. It was the dream of every power-hungry man (woman and child) in the world.

The crowd cheered fanatically and gave him a standing ovation. Banners with the wizards face and name abounded. Children at top of parents cheered and wizards let strings of light of their wands.

Charles stood in the street among the crowd, eating a box of popcorn while the commotion went on. To his concern, and reluctant dark amusement, the commotion over voting a representative Wizard had not died down like he had hoped. It, in fact, had blown out of proportion.

It was now a Problem.

He had hoped that with time people would forget about it or just accept it as unchangeable. But such was not the case, only a child's fervent wish. He would have to deal with it somehow and stop ignoring it.

Martha was providing 'adult supervision' since he couldn't be trusted to be on his own as of yet. Martha, the elderly widow and witch with a horrible record of selling houses to minors and leaving them to run unchecked, was now with her female lover.

The only list longer than her age was that of her lovers.

Charles had lost her an hour ago. He was to meet her at sundown _of the next day_ or 'face the consequences'. She was a lot more trusting in his ability to look out for himself than his mother. Or cared a lot less. Either way she made a wonderful babysitter.

The fact that he had paid a German prostitute to woo her had nothing to do with anything. Especially the reason why they were in Germany and the fact that it had been convenient for Martha to lie to Annabelle and tell her they were safely in Diagon Alley shopping for Christmas gifts.

Charles was twelve. What did he know about anything? He had just donated money to a woman in need and directed her to the love of her life.

Ironically, it truly was the love of her life. He had paid her for only two days (he had needed a properly distracted babysitter that week) and a week later she was still around, and Martha was off to meet her in-laws in Germany. The fact that the girl was in her late twenties and Martha was older than dirt did not seem to bother either woman. A spell had confirmed that they were 'meant for each other'. In Charles' opinion the spell was just as effective as a wand in a muggle's hand, but he kept his opinions to himself.

Charles got dragged along because his mother had not thought it appropriate for him to be in a 'unsuitable' environment, an event with alcoholic drinks _and_ hosted in a house with a potions lab.

Frank had offered to stay with him, probably because he didn't want to attend to another stuffy party.

Martha then complained about a rash and needing someone to cover her back with ointment every two hours and Frank suddenly, and without much explication, decided it was imperative that 'Anna' doesn't go alone. Who knows what could happen? A chipped glass might cut her lip or some other tragedy that she might need her husband present.

"_No more Vampires! No more Vampires!_" the crowd chanted zealously in an oddly accented German.

As often occurs in closed off or secluded populations, what began as German morphed into a new dialect, complete with new words and different forms of pronunciation. Charles could just barely understand and each time he spoke it was obvious he was a 'foreigner' even if he was speaking in German.

"_We don't want vampires in our communities!_"

_"Kill the vampires!_"

That was the hook for the common German wizard: getting Vampires out of their territory. They were the second most common cause of death for wizards. The first one being wizards killing wizards.

Charles dumped his empty popcorn box in a dumpster and cleaned his sticky fingers by sucking them. He navigated through the crowd around the platform, they were still screaming and clapping.

Taking a stray piece of propaganda from the ground, Charles wrote a small message on the back and held it in his hand until it disappeared.

He could hear snatches of the impassioned speech like '_we deserve the right to choose Our Representative_' and '_No more secrecy!_' but he had heard enough. This sort of protest was happening worldwide.

With no fix direction in mind, he headed towards the vendors.

There was a festive air on the street. The cold morning air was biting and everyone, who could afford it, was covered in fur. The rest shivered, re-cast their warming charms and walked faster.

Charles had never been to the magical sector in Germany, obviously never had the chance. It was very different than Diagon Alley. For one it was larger, less organised and covered various sectors all around Germany. Their monetary system was not based on the Galleon. Merchants accepted almost any kind of payment, Deutsche mark being the most popular, and it lacked formality.

He still did not know how to feel about being back. Seeing what could have been, the world he could have been part of, if things were different or had he not been who he was. But he kept those thoughts in a tight leash. There was no point in hoping the impossible. He was who he was, and that was that. The cards had been dealt with and he had to play with what he got.

Vendors had their ware up for inspection: brilliant fruits of every colour and shape, smoke-filled goblets, warm foods, cheap coats and hats. There were carts that sold 'authentic' dragon teeth, mermaid scales, unicorn's breath ('_instant health_' it promised) and Veela beauty secrets. And they didn't just sell objects; they sold dreams. Be beautiful: the envy of every women and the object of desire of every man. Be successful. Be brave. Be healthy, wealthy, smart, tall, strong…

Even in the magical world, these were tall orders. _Be perfect_, they whispered. (Be Our ideal of perfect.) An impossible dream. Unreachable, thus profitable.

There were jugglers and entertainers at every corner. Music filled the air, both from paid performances and hopefuls with empty hats. The music, colours, commotion and laughter gave the cold dreary day a cheerful appearance that masked the rivers of tension that ran underneath the smiles. The war they were pretending was not happening.

Uniformed and civilian-dressed magical enforcement patrolled the streets. And no one spoke about the war. Much less about being opposed to it in any way, shape or form. They liked their lives, their family and their peace too much to die for it, or worse, go to prison. For the average person, the one that had a lot to lose and with a healthy level of sanity, it was better to lower their head, keep their mouth tight and walk away.

Carefully watching the carts Charles started choosing Christmas presents for the thirty-something people who expected gifts from him: family, friends of the family, the servants around the house that were like family and a few other people who will feel sighted if they didn't receive something, like Leviathan and his Goblin co-workers (who did not believe nor celebrate Christmas, but that didn't mean they wouldn't feel highly offended if he dared not gift them).

Charles found a small crystal turtle, no bigger than the palm of his hand and smiled softly. He asked for the price and cajoled the woman until the price was reasonable. He had money but old habits die hard. And she was overpricing him because he was not a local and that was just not fair.

_In loving memory of Sally. The best turtle a vampire could ask for_, he wrote in the turtle's belly with a quill that wrote on crystal as easily as ink on parchment that the women let him borrow. Sally had died a year ago, something about a toilet. Charles never found out the whole story because Leviathan had been too hysterical to be understood.

He bought socks for Tom. He had a weird fixation for them. They were hand-made, obvious by the subtle differences in a pair. Tom was going to notice each and every difference in those socks. Everything from the difference in height, unnoticeable to most people, to the uneven crisscrossing (truly minuscule but huge in Tom's eyes). Charles could already see the twitch in his eye.

He paid little for them. Tom was probably going to strangle him with them so there was no need to overpay. He continued buying seemingly random things and stopping when something cached his eye.

He spotted a cart with a sign that read: _Find out what your wand is truly made of! Only two sickles (five D-mark or three frog legs)!_

Charles thought about it. His wand was second hand and he had no idea about its core.

He took it out from his pocket. It looked old. It was probably ancient. It wasn't polish like the newer models; it looked like a dried branch with its bends and stumps. There was no handle, no actual way of telling up and down, as Charles had discovered the first time he had used it. With practice he had become adept at recognising the correct way of handling his wand.

It was also fickle. Charles imagined his wand as an old man. Full of old vices and set on his ways.

But it was a powerful wand. It did everything he asked of it without trouble and he had no complains. He was curious though. What was his wand made of? Some exotic animal. Maybe it was extinct. Or maybe it had _two_ cores. Either way, he expected it to be grand.

With confidence Charles paid the two sickles to the bored man with a large red beard siting behind the counter and handed his wand when asked.

"Unicorn hair," the man said without preamble.

"What? You sure?" Maybe he did not understand correctly. The man had a strong slur.

"Yes." he snapped, "Unicorn hair." He handed his wand back.

"…" Charles coughed and turned beet red. "I'm sure it was a badass Unicorn. Big. A rare species that's black. And mean. Scary, also. Maybe with two horns…?"

Underneath his bushy, red bear, the man chuckled. "Young. Female," he said, destroying all of Charles' delusions.

"How about we keep this our little secret?"

"Sure. Whatever. _Next!_"

Charles walked away and put his wand away in his pocket. He patted it comfortingly.

"It's ok. It's alright." He told his wand in a soothing voice, "You're a fantastic wand. You have nothing to envy about those two-cores show offs. They are highly unstable anyway. No one wants them." Charles told it.

"What does that man know anyway?" he grumbled, "You probably were Queen of the Unicorns, or a rebel hell bent on…" _what do Unicorns want?_ "Peace." _Lame._ "Or maybe you were a double rebel and wanted war…" _That's better_, "My point is, you are awesome, don't let anyone tell you otherwise. You might not be fancy, but neither I'm I. A little old, well a lot old, and I'm practically as old as dirt. We are perfect for each other, a match made in Wand Heaven. We are going to rule the world, you and I."

It might have been his imagination, probably was, _most definitely was_, but he felt his pocket warm and a shill run down his back.

Charles kept exploring the surroundings as the sun lowered. Like a curious child, he pocked and prodded unknown artefacts, got 'shooed' of the expensive crystals, and entered every exhibit he found. A lot of them were fakes, like putting an illusion on the dragon so he appeared double headed or using muggle black paint on a Unicorn and encouraging the audience to do a 'finite' if they thought it was a spell. Charles muttered a cleaning spell and was thrown out.

After he had done it he had felt really bad about it. He was messing around with the rice and beans of a family; times were harsh and getting worse. So he had offered a solution that resisted magic and lasted for five years. It had taken some time to convince the angry family to take him up on his offer, but in the end the unicorn was once again black.

For what felt like the million time, he resolved to be more mindful in the future, to think of the consequences of his actions _before_ acting because he always ended hurting someone with his careless actions. What was a joke to him was a death sentence to a family and that couldn't happen again.

He kept walking with less enthusiasm than before. The sun lowered in the sky, casting orange light on the street and long shadows. It started snowing and the temperature dropped to unbearable levels. Charles entered the first inn he found and made some reservations to stay the night, paying in advance.

The man behind the counter had greasy blond hair and small dark eyes. He did not take his beady eyes from Charles. Charles could feel him studying, assessing him; it was not a pleasant feeling. Charles looked back at him with the same unnerving intensity.

Charles was sure the man was going to interrogate him, even demand answers, but surprisingly the man did not ask one question, only took his money and handed him a key. Charles could always count on finding adults that did not care one hell if they sold a dragon to a toddler, as long as the toddler produced the money.

Crossing the street Charles found what looked like a small cafe and with thoughts on a warm beverage, he entered.

The place was full of locals. The mood was different here than at the streets. It was hard to pin-point at first why this place felt different but looking around Charles realised that it was because people were not pretending absolute happiness, they were not angry either, but more of a resigned calm. A feeling of trust that here, in this place, in this moment, they could express their discomfort with the world and not be sent to prison for it.

Everyone had today's newspaper on their hands, either open or folded in their hands. In a corner at the back, a large crowd was listening to the news on the radio, instead of music. All day Charles had heard nothing but music and the papers he had seen were more propaganda than news, it was clear that it was it had been on purpose.

He walked a few paces forward and immediately all eyes turned to him. It made him feel like he was back at Slytherin. Some looked away when they determined he was young, alone and not a threat. Others did not. Charles could almost hear their thoughts and see where the paranoia was coming from. He was old enough to be in school. The only school here was Durmstrang. Gellert controlled Durmstrang; hence he could be a spy.

Charles sat on a table by the window and the young barmaid came to him quickly. She had frizzy brown hair and a large gap between her front teeth. Her clothes were thin with use and the colours had long since faded.

"Are you waiting for someone, sweetie?" She asked with a smile that did not cover her suspicion.

Charles shook his head, knowing without looking that a lot of the patrons were paying attention.

"What's a young man like you doing on this part of town?"

"Waiting for my aunt to pick me up." Martha was sort of like an aunt. A really irresponsible aunt.

"When is she coming?" The barmaid looked at the darkening sky in worry. But not worried for him, she was worried and scared for herself. Charles couldn't help but feel confused. Why was everyone paranoid? What was happening later?

"Tomorrow," Charles responded with a wiry smile.

"Oh, you poor dear." The stress she gave the words made Charles think it was not an endearment but that she actually pitied him. "Where are you staying the night? It's too cold to stay on the streets."

"That inn." Charles pointed at the inn he had made reservations in. It was right across the street. It was curious to note that the atmosphere relaxed. As if he had said the right things. Charles wondered what would have happened if he had said the wrong things.

"Mr Bergs is a good man, intuitive. If you staying with him you must be of the good sort."

Charles looked at her with a bemused expression, willing her to expand but she did not. Only asked him what he'll have and coming back with a mug that had seen better days, back when dinosaurs still roamed the earth.

He had no complains with the coffee though. It was strong enough to wake up the dead and warm enough to bring back some feeling to his fingers.

With an unhealthy amount of curiosity, he observed the people around him. The place had intrigued him in the first place because it seemed like an intellectual place, a place filled with interesting individuals that discussed important matters.

It was also this or a beer hall, so his options had been limited.

As he had imagined, the whispered conversation around him was full of worry for the future. As a whole, Germany was seeing better times but at what cost, the men wondered.

"Are we selling our soul to the devil?" An old man wondered, "Or is he truly the angel he appears to be?"

There was a murmur in both consent and negation. Even between them, there was doubt. Gellert Grindelwald had done much for the wizarding community, and a lot of it was positive to the average German wizard. His more _questionable_ plans and actions were not widely known by the public. They were kept out of the German newspapers and those who knew, knew better than to talk.

For maybe half an hour, Charles was able to enjoy the peace and serenity of the establishment, with the murmurs of the radio as background and plenty of interesting conversation about current matters. As all good things, it did not last.

As the outside darkened with night and the candles inside were lightened the nervous murmur intensified. Suddenly and without much ceremony, the door was opened with a loud crash and men in uniform entered. Part of the uniform was the symbol of the Hallows. There was a loud silence before everyone stepped over themselves to escape. Loud commands and the quick work of the soldiers had most who had tried to escape in chains with their wand confiscated. Charles fingered his wand but did not try to get up.

He sipped from his mug, the coffee long since gone cold, and tried to look as innocent as possible. It was not that hard, he truly had no idea what was going on and for once, had done nothing to warrant an arrest. The rest had done a foul crime indeed. Critical thinkers are called conspiracy theorist by every imperialist government that has ever existed.

For a moment he wondered if he'd be arrested for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Charles wouldn't be surprised; in times of war a twelve year old was considered a man, and old enough to be sent to fight.

The place was empty in less than a minute. Newspapers were forgotten on the floor. The radio had some Christmas jingle that repeated itself every two minutes.

"You!" the deep, rumbling voice of a man made Charles looked up from his cup of cold coffee. That one word was full of accusation and anger.

When he looked up he was expecting to see a confrontation between a patron and an officer, what he saw was a large man with classic Caucasian looks pointing directly at him. Charles looked back but the table behind him was empty.

"Me?" Charles asked with confusion.

"Yes, you! You see this," he pointed at a large scar that began at his neck and ended in his left hand. "You did this."

Charles looked around; the only ones left inside were the officers that were looking at Charles curiously. And warily. Anyone that could touch, much less scar, their commanding leader merited a large space.

"I beg your pardon sir, I believe you have me confused." Charles said this truthfully. He done a lot of things in his lifetime, but he had not done that to this man. That he remembered.

The man did a signal with his hand and every soldier marched out and waited outside. The door closed with a 'click'.

Charles could see them from the window, their breaths creating clouds in the cold and the fire of a torch in one of the neighbouring building the only light in the dark sky.

After a moment of staring, the man walked until he was inches away from Charles, who was still sitting at the table with his hands around the coffee mug. One meaty hand was raised to Charles' face. He didn't flinch or move away from the hand, just waited to see what the man would do while watching the face closely. Yes, now that he thought about it the man did look familiar.

The hand took away his glasses and looked at his eyes.

"It is you," the man breathed, as he had not truly believed it until this second.

"Can I have my glasses back? I do need them."

The glasses clattered on the table and Charles wasted no time in putting them back on.

"You don't remember me," the man stated.

He had blond hair, carefully combed back with a short leather band wrapping it at his neck, clear blue eyes, thin lips and a strong nose and jaw. He wore a high-ranking uniform of the official German law enforcement, with a patch of the Hallows on his right shoulder, in other words he was Gellert's right hand.

The cafe was deserted and looked abandoned, chairs were on the floors, drink were forgotten and the only one left besides them was the barmaid and she was looking at the door with naked desire and fear.

The man sat in the other chair of Charles' two-person table and stared hard at Charles. Charles looked back at the man with a calmness that bordered on foolish, brought the mug to his lips and drank. After a few minutes of silence, Charles took the forgotten newspaper of the table next to him, where the man sitting it had left it in his rush to exit, and opened it. If the man was angry about the dismissal, he did not show it.

It was not the local wizarding paper, but one with actual news and appeals for the people to rebel against the oppression. Charles delved into it. He had a few more hours to burn before he had to leave. The front-page news was advertising the speech he attended earlier and encouraged everyone to attend and protest. The fact he had not seen one protester earlier indicated that the plans had failed and all the protesters were in jail. He was halfway through the news when the man spoke next.

"He never remembered what happened." It was not said in anger, but in perplexity and a hint of frustration.

Charles looked up and suddenly, he knew where he had seen this man before. The fight with Gellert.

"Of course not." Charles had made sure he would never remember. A dark lord on his trail would be a problem, and he had enough problems.

"And no one ever found out what truly happened. _I_ don't even know what truly happened _and I was there_."

Charles did not respond. He looked down at the paper and kept reading. The man let him, but his eyes bore holes on his forehead. Charles was used to scrutiny, for this reason he was not overly bothered by it. Even so, his eyes no longer moved on the paper but stared blankly at the printed words. If the man was waiting for an explication, he would wait a long time.

The only sound was the crinkling of the paper.

"I still have nightmares about that day." It was said so softly, with so much pain, that Charles almost did not hear it.

"I'm sorry to hear you suffer nightmares," Charles whispered. "It must have been quite the traumatic experience for a man such as yourself to be affected."

The message was clear, he was not going to accept or deny any allegations. Any number of recording devises or listing ears could be present. Even if they weren't, Charles was not about to confess anything to this man.

The man grunted. "It certainly was."

Pause. "Why are you here? Why now?" he barked.

"On a short vacation." Charles responded without looking away from the paper. There was a sale on robes, 50% off.

"You're staying?" he asked warily.

"Only for the night."

"Where?"

"Wherever."

"Then I simply _insist_ that you stay with me."

"That would not be necessary."

"It would be my honour."

"I already made reservations and paid."

"I can pay you back and inform the owner you will not arrive."

"I'm not sure how can I be clearer. No."

"I will set up an army of five-hundred outside your door if you don't stay with me."

"You don't have an army of five-hundred at your disposal." It was Charles' job to know this sort of thing. The man did not seem too surprised Charles knew.

"I would make it Germany's highest priority." That he could do.

"Not without explaining why you need maximum security on a child."

"I could come up with something. Fake evidence, pay a few witness, in no time you and your entire family could become an enemy of the state."

Charles stayed silent, studying the man. Yes, he could do that.

"I could have the law enforcement harass anyone who might know you," the man continued, "who might be close, perhaps the reason you came here in the first place?"

"And I could destroy you before you walk out of that door. I could erase every memory you have of me, without ever raising a wand. I could even blame your death on someone else and get away with it."

The man stopped, his nose flared like an angry bull, his hand went to his wand and his posture stiffened. This time he did not underestimate Charles.

"It seems we have reached a stalemate."

"No. You are going to back off or I will _make_ _you_ back off."

Charles was able to catch a brief flash of infuriation before it was gone. It was clear the man was not used to being talked to like that. And as always, the fact that he looked young made most adults froth in the mouth. Charles had to respect him for his control if nothing else. After a few deep breaths, the man was cool and calm with not a hint to show his previous anger.

Charles took out his gold pocket watch. It was almost time. He stood abruptly, making the man stand and reach for his wand.

"Good day, Mr…?"

The man laughed, bitterly and hollowly. "You don't even know my name," he said, more to himself than to Charles.

"Should I?" Charles asked with a raised brow.

The man did not respond but stretched his hand, "Oswald Volker." Volker, now he knew, an old family name, full of pureblooded wizards and prominent in German politics.

Charles nodded, smiled and ignored the hand. Charles had seen this man in action and he was insanely powerful, but most dangerous of all, sensitive.

Volker dropped the hand. "And your name might be?"

"Good day, Mr Volker. I do hope we don't keep running into each other like this." With that Charles did the very risky thing of giving his back to Volker as he walked towards the door. His back was tense, he expected an attack at any second but he reached the door without problem and walked out.

Outside the soldiers seemed ready to detain him but at a signal from Volker, no one touched him. With a breath that he will deny was relieved, he walked the cobbled streets until darkness swallowed him.

He didn't have many days of vacation left and there was something he needed to get done before the charity gala. Charles disappeared and appeared again in a dark alley way only steps away from where the speech had been held.

A bum on the street held out one finger. Charles nodded and put a few D-marks on his hat when he passed by him. He entered the beer hall that was across the street and walked up the stairs to room 3.

The room had a round table that occupied most of the space with five chairs. The walls were an undetermined colour, something between pale grey and yellow. The floors were dirty and sticky with spilled drinks. In one of the chairs a man with a strong jaw, dark eyes, long dark hair and dressed solely of leather waited.

"You had me investigated," the werewolf growled.

Charles blinked. "No pleasantries?"

"You had me investigated," he repeated, almost getting out of his chair and attacking.

"Yes." Charles had sent a team to investigate every single thing about the werewolf, the direction he had been given and someone called 'Isaac'. It had turned clean. No sudden deaths or anything to indicate he was one of _them_.

The werewolf seemed disoriented at the quick confession.

"Couldn't trust you. Obviously."

"If you had come, I could have explained. But you never did."

"What part of not trusting do you not understand? For all I knew you could have been one of _them_. I couldn't take the risk of it being an ambush."

"And the five hour notice and seemingly random place would prevent an imaginary ambush?"

"I also paid a bum to count the number of non locals that entered the beer hall, specifically to this room."

"Fine." The werewolf that Charles now knew was named Isaac breathed deeply. "Now, can you explain to me what the hell have you been doing?"

Charles immediately felt defensive, "Surviving, and you?" he spat. There was something about this man that always made him angry and defensive.

"You have done more than surviving. I wonder what game you think you are playing." By this time they were both standing and facing each other. The table was the only thing between them.

"Well, what have you done?" Charles parried. "In the time you have been back, what _the hell_ have you done? Name one thing."

"I followed the rules," he all but growled. "Something you seem incapable of."

"What would _you_ know about me?"

"The instructions were clear. What part of 'don't change anything did' you not get? You never even showed up at the meeting point "

Charles stopped and his anger evaporated as he thought about what he had said. He opened and closed his mouth a few times.

"Meeting point? What meeting point? The one in London? And I was told that we needed to make a change, not let history repeat itself." His mouth felt dry. He had the very bad feeling something was terribly wrong.

Isaac got a dark look. "The meeting point was in Brazil, year 1933."

"Brazil is a pretty big place."

"No shit."

"Anything more specific?"

"No."

"What happened?"

"I couldn't find anyone. Eventually I had to leave."

"I was attacked by _them_ in 1933. I was six." Charles licked his lips. "I was told to go to London."

"And I was told Brazil."

"I was told to change everything."

"And I was told to leave everything as is."

Charles breathed deeply. His heart was beating rapidly but his blood felt cold. "We were played," he breathed, feeling numb with shock.

"So what can we trust?"

"Nothing. For now, nothing. Let's expect the worse and assume everything was false."

"But _why?_ I don't understand. Why tell us completely different instructions?"

"I don't know. To confuse us. To distract. To keep me busy in pointless endeavours while you played good little werewolf." Charles got a glare for the comment but he was past caring. Everything he had given as a fact, the ground he had built his entire world, had been nothing more than hot air. What was the truth?

"Why lie? Why sent us back? And who would do that? They had already won, what was the point?"

"Maybe they didn't."

"What?"

"Maybe they didn't win."

"They did. I was there. I died."

"Yes, we all did." Charles snapped. "My point is maybe there were not successful. Maybe they turned back time to have another shot."

"You think they are using us?"

Charles got out of his chair and paced. He pulled out his hair. "I don't know." Charles stopped in front of Isaac. "Have you found anyone else?"

"No. Only you, and you gave yourself away pretty easily. A kid bringing down all the leaders of the world to their knees, yeah, it was not hard at all. You are the only one cocky enough to do something like that."

"I found another one. Well, she found me."

"I take it, it did not went well?"

Charles snorted. "Her mind was destroyed. Almost killed me and six-hundred other kids." Charles took out his gold watch. He only hesitated a moment before opening and taking out a note. "She gave me this. Apparently others like us."

Isaac looked at the note and looked up at Charles, there was something like pity and understanding in his eyes. "You haven't looked them up," he stated.

Charles shook his head, not looking at Isaac. "We can -"

Whatever Isaac was going to say got lost when in the explosion. They both rushed towards only the window in the room, pushing the table in the process.

The world outside was bathed in light and smoke.


	41. Chapter 41: The Good Guys

**Chapter 41: The Good Guys**

.o-0-o.

**December 21, 1938**

**London, England.**

"Charles, are you feeling all right?" Annabelle asked from her place on the floor. Colourful paper, boxes and ribbons surrounded her. A green tree in the corner was covered in garlands and small candles inside round glass balls.

Charles looked at his mother blankly. He also sat on the floor with yet to be wrapped presents. Only the small fire from the fireplace and the decorative candles of the tree as lighted the room.

"Fine," he responded and grabbed a red ribbon to decorate another box.

"What's on your mind sweetie? You've been strangely quiet."

Charles looked down at the red ribbon in his hand and caressed it with his fingers. "Fire," he responded. Charles breathed in smoke as flashes of fire and screams echoed in his mind.

Annabelle smiled at him indulgently without looking up from the complicated bow she was making, a frustrated frown on her face and a mess on her fingers. "Why I'm I not surprised," she muttered. With that they continued wrapping presents in silence. The fire crackled merrily and a rendition of Vivaldi's Winter played on the radio.

**December 19, 1938**

**Wizarding Sector in München capital of Bavaria, Germany**

They ran down the stairs, jumping steps and cutting corners in their hurry.

They stopped at the bottom of the stairs to stare in shock. The previously packed and loud beer hall was as empty and silent as a cemetery. Chairs and tables were upside down and personal belongings had been left on the floor. It was as if the place had been hastily evacuated. They walked outside; the street was also unnaturally deserted and littered. A small sun beyond rows of ancient stone buildings illuminated the night in orange and reds. They could see thick grey smoke billowing into the skies.

With cautious steps and wary eyes they followed the light and sounds through the maze of streets that made Magical Germany. The closer they got to the artificial sun the more people they saw, either running away or running towards. Charles heard muttered conversations in rapid German about a strange, magical fire that was decimating a building and a fight, but he could not hear much before they rapidly passed through the people, Isaac walking ahead at a faster pace.

Soon, they could see the fierce fire that towered over the city. Flashes of black, violet and electric blue crackled in the raging storm of reds and oranges, a sure sign that magic was the driving force behind the fire. The magical fire was rapidly consuming an entire building. Waves of blazing heat hit them as soon as they closed in. Charles coughed as smoke filled his lungs. He used his scarf to cover his mouth and nose and took off his winter hat.

Black snow fell from the sky while the fire illuminated the battle in reds and oranges. With some surprise Charles recognised some of the men that had been with him at the cafe. The majority of the action was in front of a small prison and the adjourning streets. As they approached, it became obvious that they had tried to free their imprisoned compatriots. The fight seemed to have started a while ago and it was still going strong. There was no sort of organisation. Smoke and soot covered everyone black, making it hard to determine uniformed from non-uniformed, friend from foe.

There were people on the roofs of nearby buildings throwing spells, chairs, tables, whatever they could get their hands on, to drive away the sea of uniformed men. The street was not the only fighting ground; the sky was also full of brooms, carpets and spells. Once in a while, a broom would crash in the ground, killing not only the passenger but also everyone that got caught in its destructive path. Or a badly aimed _'bombarda'_ from the sky would hit a building.

Screams, shouts and commands got blurred and ignored. Voices got lost in the roar of the fire. Between the fire, the smoke, the light of the spells, the screams, and the shouts everything was reduced into a hazy nightmarish confusion. Needless to say, it was total chaos.

The rebels, distinct by their unshaven faces, old clothes and odd weapons like planks and metal tubes in addition to their wands were in a clear disadvantage. From what Charles could see, they had no clear leadership and were fighting in groups of three or more but as more and more soldiers joined the fight, it was obvious they were outnumbered. Still, they fought savagely and professionally. Durmstrang had prepared them well. But the soldiers, Gellert's own team, were a hell of a lot more prepared and had numbers on their side.

Isaac dived right into the fight without thought but Charles stayed back in the shadows, watching the chaos around him. Surviving a battle like this was due more to luck than skill.

"What are you waiting for?" Isaac yelled when he noticed Charles hadn't followed.

Isaac had a look in his eyes. A look that Charles was very familiar with. He saw it in the mirror every time he was itching for a fight. After the confusing discovery that everything they had assumed as truth was maybe, possibly, a lie, a manipulation, Charles could understand his need to fight, but…

"I don't know what they are fighting for!"

"Freedom of course!" Isaac yelled over the noise.

"They could be fighting for tax deductions for all we know." It didn't felt right. Fighting, killing, maiming without cause, without purpose, without knowing it was all worth it. _Dying_ without knowing it was something worth dying for…

"Look, the civilians are the good guys and the government are the bad guys. It is always so. Bloody Gellert Grindelwald is the head of government, what more motivation do you need?"

Reluctantly, Charles took out his wand and followed Isaac. The closer they got, the more chaotic it was. The heat was unbearable; Charles started sweating when he was still a street away from the burning building.

By the time they were close to the fire it was too loud to talk, Charles made a hand signal pointing at the building on fire at the end of the street. Isaac glared in anger but nodded anyway and walked away. He left Isaac alone, figuring he could take care of himself. If he wanted to fight, he could fight. Charles was not going to get involved in something he did not fully understood. He didn't know for what the rebels were fighting for, hadn't known there _were_ rebels fighting against Grindelwald. It was either a very small group or very secretive. Getting into something without knowing the motives behind the fight was foolish. He did not feel like killing, for that is what would inevitably happen in this fight, for no reason. His soul, and conscience, was heavy enough as it was.

And dying of a missed spell thrown from the air was the more probable outcome in this fight.

The building on fire looked like it had been an office building; public he would say, by the historic name. After shedding his excess clothes, he entered the building. The first person he escorted out of the building was an elderly man who had lost his wand to the fire but had been fairly close to the entrance.

"There's no possible way I could ever repay what you have done for me," the elderly man said, shaking Charles' hand profusely but Charles' mind was elsewhere. He was looking for solutions and assessing the situation.

"You could organise a team to help put out the fire and another to look for survivors. Ah, and if anyone knows how to stabilise buildings, so that the building doesn't come crashing down while there is still people inside, that'll be great," Charles rapidly suggested, or more like gently commanded.

After seeing the damage for himself, Charles knew that if help didn't arrive soon, not only would this building crumble, trapping everyone inside a fiery grave, but also the fire will spread.

This was the kind of fire that brought down cities and killed hundreds.

The man blinked in confusion. "eh." He scratched his head in confusion and looked at Charles helplessly. He had not really expected to have to do something. It was just what one said in such an occacion. "Sure, sure," he said uncertainly. "I'll get right to that." The next second the man regrouped and with a sudden air of bravery his next words were said fiercely. "Mark my words, I will not fail you," he vowed.

"Great!" Charles said as he walked back inside, his mind already on other matters.

"My name is Norman!" The elderly man shouted at Charles' retreating back.

Trusting that help would arrive to stabilise the building and control the fire, Charles limited himself to saving the people trapped inside. Indiscriminately from uniform or side.

In good conscience, he couldn't let a person burn in a fire. Not after seeing them suffering, suffocating and screaming from pain and fear. Even if there were no God or deity to judge him later on, he would find himself wanting. And that was enough.

The majority that were still trapped in the building had no wand, having lost it in the explosion or to the fire. The ones that still had their wands were so concern on getting out that they didn't stop to help others, in fear of the roof or floor collapsing and trapping them inside.

He did not cast bubblehead charm on himself because it muffled sounds, messed with his balance and blackened with the smoke. The fire was not natural fire, it was hotter, wilder and refused to be controlled. Every time Charles managed to get some control, it would slip through his fingers like an eel, and like a live animal, destroy everything with renewed anger and fury.

He walked forward even as the floor threatened to cave on him. As the heat intensified that not even cooling charms worked. Even as he smelled burning flesh, his own and others', and vomit rose to his mouth. He did it because he had to.

Charles may have not been born brave, he might still be afraid of a lot of things, not all of them logical, but he was _coward enough_ to know that if he walked out now, he would never be able to face himself tomorrow. He would never be able to look at a mirror and not think: _'You did it again. You could have saved them, but you chose to walk away and save yourself,'_ as he had done once with the children in the Vampire convention. He had not been brave enough then, but he would be today. He had to. The other option was too hard to live through once more.

Walking away, simply turning back and walking to the fresh air never left his mind, like a mantra, it invaded his mind, _you don't have to do this, you can walk away, no one would blame you…_ but so was walking forward, _how would you look into the mirror, look at your loving family, the riches that surround you and not hate yourself and everything around you because you couldn't do it, at the end of the day you couldn't be the hero you wish you could be. _They both ruled for domination.

The option of walking away was forever the more tempting one. He didn't want to be here. He hated being here. The smoke strangled his lungs and made breathing all but impossible. Fire had not touched him, but the heat was so intense that his skin blistered. His heart was falling out of his chest trying to recompense the lack of oxygen and to push more adrenaline through his veins. He had a number of small cuts and bruises from falling, tripping and the stairs unexpectedly giving up. Long ago he had shed all of his heavy winter clothes and was down to only pants and a long button shirt that used to be white, but was now entirely black, ripped and bloody.

The guilt that originated from his reluctance to be here, doing this, made him look at each one of them in the eye, see them as a person, even when he wanted to flinch away from their fear-clouded eyes and horrific burns. The guilt made him save everyone, no matter how hard it was to reach them or how impossibly burned they were. Because even those people who were burned beyond recognition could be saved by magic. If they got treated immediately. If they didn't dehydrate. If they didn't get an infection. If they could hold on just a bit more. They could be saved.

Oh, and how they wanted to be saved. Charles could see it in their eyes each time he found them. How grateful they were that someone found them. That someone came back for them. That they were not forgotten. How unwilling they were to stay alone, even for a second, while Charles found another way to reach them. The mind-numbing panic at dying. Here. In this office building. In this way. Burnt to death. Alone.

And some did die. After Charles found them and they talked, after hearing their name but before Charles could reach them the roof unexpectedly collapsed, or the wall crumbled, or the fire reached something explosive. And then, Silence.

And walking away became more tempting.

Soon he stopped thinking. Stopped wondering why he was doing this, stopped feeling everything except fear and adrenaline as his mind fell into the familiar numbness that let his body react on instinct and only permitted thinking as a way to find solutions to immediate problems. In part, it was liberating, no more existential wonderings or complicated, philosophical thoughts about his purpose in life, only fear and adrenaline.

It was the reason Charles loved fighting with Tom and Abraxas until the world fell away. It was the reason Isaac was out there fighting. It was their escape, just as much as potions and sleep was.

The fear never left, it would have been deadly dangerous if it left. He needed fear just as much as he needed the adrenaline. It ran through his veins as lava and infused his mind with a sharpness that would not be there otherwise. Fear made him hear every single crack of the fire and the structure, made him cautious and wary, made him flinch and jump on instinct.

The passing of time held no meaning. He knew not much had passed, it just felt like an eternity since he entered. Maybe an hour, maybe two or three, but not much. From time to time he found others, groups of people helping others, assuring him that the man had kept to his promise. They would look at him and nod.

After seeing him work his way into level four they had looked at him with respect. It had taken a keen handle on balance, a few gymnastic moves, a bit of luck and some magic but he had made it.

But it was only after the floor that held fourteen people, including Charles, collapsed and he managed to save everyone with some quick thinking, some rope and a weightless charm, they were quick to obey any and all command he dished out without hesitation.

A sort of understanding passing through the volunteers, maybe even a connection. A certain bond formed in the heat of the moment, quick and spontaneous. Unavoidable after surviving something of such magnitude.

The fire died down, but not before burning everything in its path. Efforts to control it had been all but impossible with the fire being magical in nature, but it had been contained to the building.

Charles found himself at the lowest levels of the building helping a trapped woman. A column had fallen and trapped her right leg. She broke her arm in the fall and dislocated her shoulder when she grabbed a pole when the column fell. She was far from the first one being trapped under rubble, but in her case, not even magic could help her. A team had already assed the situation and deemed it impossible. They had not told her that, only slowly filtered out until Charles was the only one besides her and not by choice, she had a death grip on his arm.

"I don't know if we can save your leg," Charles told her. He would have liked if his voice had carried a regretful note but even to his ears it sounded cold and detached.

"What do you mean?" she sobbed, "Try to levitate the column."

"This column is all that is holding the building up." Charles took a moment to cough. It felt as if he was trying to cough out his lungs. When he regained his breath he continued, "If I take it the whole building will come crashing down."

"Take the column and then hand me your wand and I'll apparate us out," she said desperately.

"Even if you were in any condition to apparate, which you are not, I cannot do that. There are still people inside."

She sobbed, deep raking sobs that shook her entire body. Charles held her down, not out of sympathy but so that she wouldn't injure herself even more. "We don't have much time," Charles told her in a monotonous tone.

"NO!"

"You are going to die if we don't cut out your leg. It's the only option left." Of course, there was still a very large chance she was going to die even after he cuts the leg. But a low chance of survival was better than none.

He felt like laughing. Cold, bitterly and hollowly. The hypothetical situation he had presented Dumbledore was coming back to bite him in the ass.

A beam fell close to them and this seemed to shake her out of denial. The building was coming down and it was not waiting for her to make up her mind. She nodded and closed her eyes. She was young, Charles thought, probably no older than twenty five. Charles touched her and sent a bit of magic to her body until she relaxed. He was weak, but at the very he could least do that for her.

Unwilling not to do everything in his power to save her leg, Charles tried to relieve the pressure from her leg slowly, doing so quickly would kill her. Slowly might even kill her as well. He didn't know how much time her leg has been crushed. He was only able to support the column a few millimetres before it came crashing down again. On her leg. She screamed and screamed, until no sound came from her mouth.

Charles wished she would stop.

It made him want to leave.

There was no choice. The leg had to go.

Charles settled himself on his knees by her legs and took a few breaths to calm his shaking hands. Had he ever amputated a limb? He doesn't remember. Was it time to start? No choice. It was either that or leave her to a slow painful death. _Or he could cast the killing curse_, a small voice said. Quick, easy, painless death, it was a better death than what awaited her. What was more humane? Was there a right or wrong choice?

"I have a daughter you know," she whispered. Blood was dribbling down her mouth and she did not seem all that aware. That made Charles mind. She wanted to live, had something to live for. _Sterilise and then a cutting curse?_

"She was here. In the children's ward."

Charles looked at her sharply. "There is no children's ward."

"Fifth floor." Charles swore. That part of the building had long since collapsed.

"Promise that after I'm dead you'll look for her."

"I promise." Charles bit his tongue so he wouldn't make false promises about her state of health. There was a high chance she was not going to survive, no matter what he did and that her daughter was already dead. "Breath deeply," he ordered.

It took more than one cutting curse to sever off the leg. The scream would probably haunt Charles for many years to come. He had blood spattered all over his face and hair. She passed out from the pain, which Charles was grateful for, even if it was dangerous for her to be unconscious right now.

He apparated out and right into the battle with a one legged dying woman in his hands. The stump had been disinfected and burned so she wouldn't bleed out, but that was the least of her problems. A soldier in soot and blood stained uniform ran towards him, Charles tensed and got ready to apparate out.

"Wait! My wife, please, my wife." He screamed from afar, stopping Charles from escaping.

"She's your wife?"

"Yes." The man looked at her and with trembling hands took her from Charles.

"Otto," she whispered with a smile and tears in her eyes.

"Take her to the hospital_, now_."

"I can't!" the man looked anguished, "Please, take her to safety. I'll be charged and killed as a deserter if I leave now."

Charles looked at her, "We each must do what we feel is right. My place is here. I made a promise. You have less than ten minutes to get her professional help. Make your decision quickly and make sure you can live with your loyalties."

Charles wasted no more time on the man; the woman was not his responsibility any more. He turned around and entered the building. Apparating in was out of the question; he didn't know what had collapsed since he was last in. The heat hit him like a wall. The fire had gone out leaving behind a black, hollow carcase with small burning fires.

"Was there a children's ward on the fifth floor?" he asked one of the men working inside the building. The man looked incredibly sad, "There was. The entire floor collapsed."

Charles nodded and turned away.

"Where are you going?" the man yelled at Charles' retreating form.

"To check."

"There is nothing there!" He meant it literally; fifth floor had ceased to exist even before Charles had stepped in the building.

Getting to the fourth floor took everything out of him, the third floor stairs had collapsed and he had to climb to get to the fourth floor. Fifth floor no longer existed, but if any of the children survived they'll be trapped here.

"Hello?" he shouted. Silence. "Is anyone in here?" Silence.

Undeterred, he kept looking. Careful not to step on top of something and crush a possible survivor, he turned every debris, disappeared rocks and bricks and was careful with fallen walls. It was slow work. Midway through he started finding toys and then, little hands and shoes. Little bodies hidden under desks, crushed under walls, dead from suffocation and black from the smoke.

By the time he started apparating the bodies out, the fight had stopped. People were looking for their loved ones, and they crowded around where Charles and the rest of the helpers were leaving the bodies for the families to claim them.

Out of the seventeen children only two survived.

Outside, black rain fell on the dark night. There were no Healers to treat the wounded. No one bringing water or supplies. The rebels only cared about escaping and the soldiers about pursuing. Curious observers looked from the outside at a safe distance and murmured. A reported took photos of the injured, of the dead, of the night and after some statements, left. No one helped the injured. Magical Germany, same as England, had no free clinics and the only hospital that served the entire magical population was very expensive.

Charles stood outside the burned building with two small children, one in each of his very tired arms. One was smaller than the other, it was the only difference Charles could see, one could walk and the other could not. Both were covered in soot, dirt and dried blood and their heads were hidden in Charles' neck.

He was waiting, his mind numb and oddly quiet, for someone, a mother or father, to claim the children. Some cynical part of him doubted anyone would come. Still, he waited, hoping that someone would come. Maybe they could take him home as well.

A soldier approached him. Young and under all the dirt, handsome. He stretched his hands for Charles to pass him the children. Charles held them closer as the children whimpered at the though of parting.

Charles looked at the young man, no older than eighteen, at the eyes and without hesitation or moral questioning, read his mind. The man widened his eyes and defended his mind with expertise. But it was no use, Charles did no care about his life or his goals or his secrets, he only cared about his intentions _right now_. Charles' voice whispered a question, over and over, until the man's subconscious answered. The moment he heard the answer he retreated from the mind and handed over the crying children to the confused and wary man.

It was a physically and mentally exhausted Charles that went to find Isaac. He was almost entirely covered in soot, scrapes and blood. Sweat coated his clothes, making them stick to his skin in an uncomfortable manner. His hair was damp and drops of sweat rolled from his hair, down his face until they disappeared down his neck. His uncovered skin was red and blistered but slowly healing. Parts of his hair were singed and the smell of burned skin and hair rolled off him in waves. He did not smell it anymore.

He had shed his scarf, hat and over coat before entering the fire. Now, walking empty streets in the freezing night with nothing more than torn up pants and shirt to protect him, he was feeling the bite of the December air. The sweat rapidly cooling on his skin did not help.

"Hey you kid," Charles looked around with tired eyes, "yes, you!" The man said, looking at him. "Come with me." He was a thin, tall man with ratty clothes covered in soot and dirt. His face was thin and long, with a two-day black beard and a hat covering his uncombed black hair.

Charles followed him. There was probably a rule somewhere of not following complete strangers in foreign land just because you were too tired to think, but he figured, with his smoke filled brain, that this man could lead him to Isaac. He was tired and wanted to find Isaac and leave.

They turned to a dead end street. Charles stood at the mouth of the street and let the man continue alone, watching him with bored eyes. He might be tired but he was far from stupid. He was, at the very least, ten feet away from stupid and a hair away from mental. When the man reached the end of the street he took out his wand and tapped the bricks of the wall and much like Diagon Alley, the bricks moved and the rest of the street was revealed. It was a testament of his tired mind that he did not mock the unoriginality of wizards. He might actually make a door that opened to a secret world; no one would see it coming.

The other side was busy and full of people. But as dark and dreary as the rest of the poor, dirty streets they had walked to get here. Hesitantly, Charles walked the rest of the way in. The street was made of grey rocks to match the grey, smoke filled sky and the grey buildings. Even the clothes the people wore were dark. Overall, the place made Charles think all the colours in the world had faded. The place very much complimented his mood. In fact, it made him even more depressed. And that, in and of itself, was astonishing.

"Do you know a man named Isaac?" Charles asked the man that had brought him in, talking for the first time.

"The new guy?" the man questioned with a strong accent and rotten teeth.

Charles nodded. Sure. Why not? Isaac could be 'the new guy'. He could be the old guy, the wolf guy, he could even be a fairy for all he cared.

"Yes, yes, he was the one that told me to bring you. Great fighter, he is. Come on, he's with the big guys."

Who the 'big guys' might be, Charles could care less. There was no spark of curiosity in him, no question asked or interest shown. Isaac could be with Merlin himself and they were still leaving.

They entered one of the few buildings in the small, one-way street and climbed to the second floor through 'hidden' stairs. The room they entered was small, almost painfully so. The wallpaper had once been of flowers but it had long since faded, and in some parts, been ripped out. Maps, parchment and quills covered almost every available surface.

Four men hunched over one in the table. Isaac was next to a man Charles was almost sure was the owner of the inn, Mr bergs. He should feel surprised, yet he was not. Now that he though about it, it was quite obvious. Even expected.

The conversation did not stop when Charles entered. The tall, thin man that had accompanied him thus far left him at the door and went back down the stairs.

"We need to recruit more people," A tall, burly man with dark red hair and brown eyes said, almost growled. He looked to be in his late thirties and had a large scar that went from his forehead, crossed his face and down his neck where the rest was hidden by his shirt. It looked old.

The other unknown man grunted, "Young people." He was at least in his forties, with shaggy brown hair and hazel eyes. With the exception of Charles and Isaac, all the men had beards. It clearly separated them as Outsiders. They were speaking in a heavily accented English, probably for Isaac's benefit.

"All of the young get sent to Durmstrang." Mr bergs said. All of them were equally dirty and bloody but none were as black from soot and smoke as Charles. Everything from his caked and singed hair, to his face, neck, arms, clothes and shoes were covered in soot.

"Not the muggleborn," the red-headed man countered.

"I like how you are thinking. Recruit them young and train them."

"Yes, please." Charles clapped his hands, his voice cold and his face expressionless. "Use untrained children in your war. I'm sure they'll appreciate the training in killing people."

"Winter," Isaac greeted icily. "Nice of you to come."

"Who brought the kid in?" the hazel-eyed man barked.

"He's a friend" Isaac explained, though calling them 'friends' was a stretch of the imagination.

"We should leave," Charles stated, looking at Isaac and ignoring everyone else.

"Wait just a moment-" the red-headed man started.

"What's the rush? Stay, Mr Winter." Mr Bergs interrupted, looking at the redheaded man pointedly. "You already paid me for one night of room. The least I could do is offer you a room." He was still as creepily intensive as Charles remembered.

"We'll stay," Isaac responded for him. Charles sent him a glare but did not contest. He was too tired to care much at this point. The promise of a bed and sleep was too much of a temptation.

They followed Mr Bergs down the stairs, out the building and up the street. Mr Bergs walked ahead at a quick, brisk pace. Charles noted his hunch and how he dragged his left leg, almost unconsciously gathering information that could help him in a fight.

"Using untrained children for war?" Charles hissed in anger. He was surprised he could still feel anger and welcomed the feeling with open arms. The red, hot anger was melting the cold and numbness.

"Look, they are not doing it. It was just a thought." At Charles' stern look Isaac amended, "A really stupid thought. Look, they aren't perfect but they are not bad either. They are fighting against Grindelwald's reign of terror aren't they?"

"Oh, you an expert on the rebellion now?" Charles snapped.

"I was there, fighting. Where were you? Hiding away?" Both of them had stopped walking and were facing each other. Isaac towered over Charles. The tall, burly young werewolf glowered in anger and his eyes promised a world full of pain. It might have intimidated anyone else but it took much more to intimidate Charles. Charles glared right back in silence. He was not going to explain himself to this man. He did not deserve an explanation. Isaac might have guessed his last thought because he flushed in anger and stepped forward menacingly.

"You are not in charge here. I am," Isaac hissed.

"Are you?" Charles whispered threatening, stepping forward as well, his eyes flashing.

"Yes. I am." Isaac growled, sounding more wolf than a human.

Charles then smiled, cold and mockingly, "Do you feel so threatened by me that you need to assert your superiority each time we meet?"

"The times where you were the leader have passed," he hissed. "We are playing by my rules now. You are an irresponsible jackass and I'm not letting the fate of the Universe rest on you."

It had been long since someone challenged his right to lead. And Charles found out he did not like being questioned.

"Is that so?"

"It is."

"Arrogance must be won." Charles whispered, stepping back and diffusing the tension. "Have you won the right to be arrogant?" It grated on Charles' nerves but if Isaac wanted, and proved, to be a better leader, Charles was not opposed to letting him lead. Well, not _too_ opposed. He had never been good taking directions and following others, but this was more important than he.

And it would take the responsibility, and if everything went to hell, the blame, from his shoulders. Charles didn't want to be blamed for failing to save the Universe, not that there would be anyone around to point fingers. And he didn't have any ideas on where to start. You have to know when to lead and when to back off. If Isaac had better ideas, he was welcome to try.

Isaac must have noticed the change in Charles' thoughts because he backed off and answered seriously, and a bit formally, "I have."

"We'll see." Charles turned and followed Mr Bergs.

They walked in stony silence the rest of the way. Mr Bergs directed them to a group of men and left them there while he looked for clothes and supplies for them to stay the night.

The group of fifteen men were drinking beer from tin glasses and talking loudly around a fire-pit. Their slimy smiles and raucous laughter made Charles sick and angry. Their laughter seemed disrespectful after all that had happened. Images of black, burned toys were engraved in his head. Charles excused them on the fact that some soldiers needed to wind-down after a particularly hard battle. And this sort of behaviour, through disgusting, was normal.

Their slurred comments were mostly lost on Charles who was absorbed in thoughts of fire and screams. He could still smell the smoke. Feel the fire. Some part of him believed he was still in that building and that he was imagining being some place else. After his encounter with _Her_, he would always have trouble convincing himself that the danger passed and he was really safe and not there anymore. _She_ made him doubt reality, made him doubt his memories.

He snapped out of it when he heard something that made him look up sharply.

"They started the fire," Charles guessed by their cryptic comments and slurred jokes. Slowly anger as hot as the fire burned inside him until it consumed everything. "They started the fire," he repeated, this time furious.

"Winter, come on. Calm down. Yes, it was wrong but casualties occur in every war. In every revolution."

"Calm down? CALM DOWN?" He faced Isaac, "There were children in that building! Seventeen children! It was an office building full of secretaries with their children! They burned to death. The lucky ones suffocated and died before the fire could reach them."

Charles' angry yelling had garnered the attention of the entire street and everyone was looking at him. It was a small street with no much sound, Charles angry yelling effectively gathered all the attention. A part of him, the fighter, noted that they, the rebels, were not a large group, maybe sixty. He was past caring. He turned around and walked away.

"You are the last person to judge acts of war." Isaac hissed in his ear. "Having led thousands of wars. Tell me, are you not as guilty as them? Or are you going to tell me that no innocent has ever died by your hand? Tell me, how many have you already killed?"

"You know what? Fuck you. You don't know me and frankly I don't care what you think of me."

"So, just like that, you are leaving? Will you also abandon _Our_ war when things get rough? When inevitably, innocents die? Are you going to say it's all too awful and hide behind your mommy?"

Charles turned to face him, a snarl on his lips and magic dancing on his fingertips. He stopped mid curse, seconds away from casting, dark crackling magic dancing on his fingertips ready to be released. He could have sworn he saw an eye peaking out of a wall.

He squinted his eyes and looked closely. Yes, it was indeed an eye pocking out of a wall. It was eerie enough to shock him out of anger. Isaac warily turned back to see what he was looking at, without taking an eye from him in case it was a method of distraction.

Hesitantly, Charles walked forward. A brown eye looked at him from the cracks on the wall. Charles touched the wall. It was a magical wall. The eye disappeared and a mouth appeared, the lips moved but no sound came out. A silencing ward. The lips repeated one word, over and over.

Hilfe. (Help)

"Weren't you leaving?" The red headed man asked, coming from behind Charles and standing imposingly.

"Who's that?" Charles asked.

"No one. Leave."

"Who is that?" Isaac asked again forcedly, walking forward to inspect the wall.

Mr Berg came from behind the red headed man but it was a portly woman who spoke.

"Grindelwald's army were going to murder all the squibs, werewolves, mudbloods and half-breeds. We manage to save them." She smiled hesitantly at them.

"Open this door," Charles commanded.

"They are dangerous," Mr Berg said. "They are there for their own safety as well as ours."

"Open this door or I will destroy it," Charles said softly, trembling in anger.

"And I will help him."

For whatever reason, Charles was grateful Isaac was backing him up. Fighting Isaac and a mob would have been difficult.

Mr Berg took out his wand but instead of opening the wall, he simply made it transparent. What Charles saw made him want to cry (in anger, in frustration, in sorrow, in pain…)

"I know it doesn't look like much," the woman defended, fidgeting with her hands, "but we don't have much. The food is being rationed. There is no way in or out of the country and there are spies everywhere. They are safer here, even if it's a little cold and food is short."

"You seem to be eating well," Charles spat, looking pointedly at her large frame. Charles walked towards the invisible wall until it touched his nose and watched the macabre scene.

"How can you people live with yourself?" Charles asked in a horrified whisper. The girl that had been calling for help put her palm on the wall, she looked to be around sixteen, Charles could see every bone in her trembling, naked body. Charles put his palm on top of hers, a silent promise in his eyes.

"We saved them!" the woman quickly defended in anger. Charles turned back towards the crowd that had formed around him in anger.

"You saved them from a quick and painless death to condemn them to a slow painful death of starvation and cold. You have caged them like animals!"

"Only for their own safety. They could hurt others! Or they could hurt us!" There were a lot of nods at this.

"You people are monsters." Charles told them in a whisper that was heard by all.

The shame they had felt at being confronted with the starving, shivering corpse-like humans quickly turned to anger as Charles dismissed their acts of kindness at saving and feeding the needy. Angry voices were raised in defence.

"Release them!" Charles demanded.

Mr Berg raised one hand and the crowd silenced.

"We cannot do that, Mr Winter," Mr Berg said calmly. The mutters of the crowd rose.

"They'll be kill on sight!" one said.

"They don't know how to defend themselves."

"They don't have wands."

"It is too dangerous," another said.

"There are werewolves and veelas in there. Who knows what they would do if we let them run around free?"

"People might confuse them with harmless and normal folk."

"Mr Winter, think reasonably. There is no way you can take them out of the country. The government closely monitors all the floos, apparition points and porkeys. If you can donate food and clothes we will be very grateful, but short of asking Grindelwald himself, there is no way a group this large can go unnoticed. Please understand. We are doing the best we can. It really hurts our feeling you think so poorly of us, but we are doing the best we can. When you are older you'll understand."

Charles looked at all their faces and he could see it. See how they thought they were doing the right thing, how they were the good guys, the ones that wanted to save the mudbloods and squibs from sure dead, risked their lives to save them and were kind enough to share their special, secret shelter and a portion of their food.

Oh, how he hated the Dumbledores' of the world. Good intentioned actions, horrible consequences and lack of self-reflect.

This idea, this dogma, this way of life, that some lives mattered less than others was the root of all of what is wrong with the world, magical and muggle, because if they mattered less, it doesn't matter if they receive less food, no shelter, or no education, because they are fundamentally less than human. And if they are less than human, they can be treated as animals, with no moral repercussion.

Britain might pat their backs and salute from their moral high ground because they permitted muggleborns into school, but they acted the same. The limitations they put on muggleborns made it hard to afford school, harder to find jobs and impossible to pay for the borrowed money they took from Gringotts to pay for school thus condemning them to jail. Their path was set to jail, the slums or exile the moment they chose to be part of the magical community.

"I'll be back." Charles promised, more to the girl than to the crowd, before heading to the exit.

"Mr Winter," Mr Berg called him back and Charles turned, "You understand why we cannot let you in again? We cannot risk you leading them here and jeopardising our people. We are truly very sorry you could not join us. You are both great fighters and the Cause needs wands like yours."

With that the wards ejected them and Charles and Isaac were thrown outside and landed very painfully on the other side of the wall.

-0-

"Well, Isaac, are they the good guys?" Charles asked sarcastically. They were walking the dark, empty streets going in the general direction of the market. He was in a horrible mood, tired and hungry. As always, the combination made him want to lash out and make others equally miserable.

"They are fighting the Grindelwald's reign of terror so they must be good, right?" Charles mocked. "The people are always right and the government are always the bad guys, right?" He spat. "Here's a tough truth for you. Things aren't always black and white. Sometimes there is no good side. Those people are nothing more than the products of their culture. Just as bigoted, narrow-minded, as the soldiers they are fighting against. They are just as cruel in the name of kindness. I'll take the army's hate over their kindness any day."

"How would I have known they were barmy?" Isaac asked in anger.

"It was your call to join the fight. If you want to be the leader, you'll have to learn to take all the responsibility, even for unforeseen consequences."

"Where are we going now?" Isaac asked tiredly. Wisely, he had decided not to feed Charles' already volatile anger and left Charles to brood alone until he calmed down.

"Seek out an old friend," Charles replied shortly but with a lot less venom. He was too tired to hold on to the anger. And frankly, even Charles didn't see it coming. You expect acts of evil out of a tyrannical leader hell bent on supremacy, not on those fighting against said tyrannical leader.

Charles looked around a few streets before he found who he was looking for.

"The bum?" Isaac asked, incredulous. "How old a friend is he? A day?"

"About. He's name is Lars by the way. Bum is a very derogatory term, he prefers the term 'in-between houses'."

Charles conferred with Lars. Lars nodded and after Charles paid him, he started guiding them.

"No shit. You speak perfect German. Why didn't I see that coming?" Isaac asked sarcastically. "What next? Are you a master pianist as well?"

There was a long pause in which Charles decided to breathe deeply and respond normally. Right now was not the time to be angry, defensive and confrontational. He was mad, yes, but he needed a working relationship more than an enemy. It helped that Charles was not sure he could win the fight.

"I play the violin but I'm not half-bad on the piano."

Isaac snorted, "You are very easy to hate," he commented lightly, as if it were a well-known fact and not an attack to his person.

"So I've been told."

"I'm sure," Isaac said dryly.

They followed Lars in silence.

"Aren't you cold?" Isaac questioned, throwing him a side look.

"Freezing." Charles responded easily. His lips were blue and shivers ran across his body, yet he made no move to warm himself. The cold was keeping him alert, awake and numb, three things he desperately needed to be.

"I was born in Germany," Charles volunteered after a long, awkward pause. He had heard that sharing personal details helped create bonds. He had never tried it before. People either liked him or not, but no one has ever been important enough for him to have to actively try to convince otherwise. He had Tom, and that was enough. There had been little need for him to branch out. "Lived here with my family until I was six."

"What happened?"

"They came." No reason to specify who They were, it was understood. "My parents got sent to prison. My sister and I ended up in an orphanage in London."

"Sorry." And after a long pause, "And about before."

Charles nodded tensely, not quite forgiving Isaac for his earlier attitude, but making an effort to leave it behind.

"Where are we going?"

"They call it: The Fortress. Bit on the dramatic if you ask me."

"We are going to Grindelwald's base? Are you crazy! Let's get the hell out of here. We can find a way once we have slept. There is no reason to go on a suicide mission."

"Relax. I have a plan."

"Which involves?"

"Entering. Obtaining an inter-continental porkey and getting out. In one piece if at all possible."

"That's not a plan at all! Look, let's sleep on it a few hours. I want to save them just as much as you do. We could talk to our allies in Neutral Ground and work something out."

"We don't have much time."

"We have some time."

"The full moon is in two-days time."

"And you think I don't know that?" Isaac asked sharply. "I have enough control to only need the eight hours of the full moon and then I can continue to help you with it," he answered with tense shoulders.

"Think about it. There are werewolves trapped in there. What do you think will happen to the rest in two-days time with three werewolves?"

Isaac eyes' widened, as he understood Charles hurry.

"We need to separate." Charles said, "You have to find a place for them to go and permission from a pack for the three werewolves to stay the full moon. I'll meet you in the morning with the portkey. Early afternoon at the latest. You'll have no trouble getting in and out if you are by yourself."

"You can't go alone."

"We don't have much time to argue." Charles bit out through his teeth. "Go find a safe place with enough food, water and supplies. I can take care of myself."

"No pack will accept unknown werewolves this late in the cycle."

"Then you'll have to _make them_ accept them."

"I'm not like you. I don't bully people into doing my binding."

"Yes, I know. You are a paragon of goodness and good decisions. Find a way with kindness and an open heart."

"There's no way an Alpha is going to listen to me. I'm an Omega," he admitted with some reluctance.

"Why in the world are you not an Alpha?" Charles asked with disbelief. He'd be an Alpha if he were a werewolf. He couldn't imagine being anything else, much less the Omega. Isaac's shoulders tensed and he pressed his lips into a fine line. "Who shall I ask for supplies for thirty people in such a short notice?"

"I don't know. The Vampires or Goblins."

"The bloodsuckers or the gold stealers?"

One of the reasons why Werewolves were so distant from other races other than Wizards was because of their deep hate of Vampires and Goblins.

"Then don't do it and let them kill each other," Charles snapped.

Charles turned back and walked towards Lars. From what Charles knew about Isaac, as little as that was, he was positive Isaac would find a way. Isaac might not like Charles, but he didn't seem the type to let others die. While not ideal, Charles could stuff them in his house and severely deplete his winter stash of food for winter.

"Are you sure you don't want backup?" Isaac asked.

"Positive." Charles responded.

Isaac nodded. Lars made an impatient clicking noise and Charles turned back and followed him.

As Charles walked around the corner and out of view, Isaac whispered, "Good luck." He then turned around and headed for the inn down the road, hands in his leather pockets to ward off the cold. He had less than ten hours to reach Neutral Grounds, explain the situation to the nearest Alpha and find shelter and supplies for the rest.

-.O.O.-

Charles' breath created a cloud in front of him. He was numb from the cold but he still resisted the urge to warm himself. He wanted to feel the cold biting his skin and stealing his breath.

The Fortress lived up to its name. It was, in fact, a fortress, complete with rotating soldiers, artificial lights and high walls. According to Lars, it housed all the important political and military leaders as well as served as base.

"Impressive," Charles complimented as Lars opened the door used by the dogs in the summer. It was just big enough for Charles to squeeze in. "It is always the simple things that bring down the giant."

He paid Lars the rest of the money and Lars walked away with a smile and a wave. With a thoughtful frown Charles melted the ice and snow that had blocked the passage and squeezed in the hole. The surrounding grounds were large but not overly so; they were in the middle of the 'town' after all. There was not much space.

A white carpet of undisturbed snow covered the ground. It reached almost to Charles' waist. Charles pushed himself forward through the snow, finally succumbing to the need of extensive warming charms. The snow he touched turned black from soot and the path he left was as obvious as heat wave in the middle of January.

A trap door covered by four feet of snow led to a wine cellar. Lars had told him of it. Apparently he liked to snitch a bottle or two from time to time, when he felt adventurous. It was not a bad life, Lars had confessed. There were others worse than him. People without a wine cellar to steal from.

Before entering Charles erased the trail he had left behind. He didn't want to compromise Lars' secret entrance.

A soft glow from his wand lighted the large cave-like room. Crates rested upon crates. They covered entire walls and took most of the space, creating a maze-like effect. Charles sneezed and shivered. Half his body was wet from the snow. With a wave of his wand, he was dry and dirt-free. Wandless was out of the question right now.

He walked a little ways forward before stopping and sitting down on a crate. He rubbed his face to wake himself up. He was tired, hungry and every muscle in his body ached.

He let himself rest for ten minutes, cleaning his mind and letting magic enter through him, healing and calming. He felt just a tad bit better. He jumped up and continued. Any more time and he felt he would have fallen asleep.

He spent ten minutes going in the wrong direction, and five more trying to find the right direction. The place was huge and the towers of crate that were too tall to see over.

In the end, it was completely by accident that he found the exit. He tripped over a step and landed on a heap in the floor. He rolled over and looked at the ceiling, contemplating sleeping there for a while when he saw a staircase going up a floor with only one door.

The door was naturally locked, which he unlocked with magic more powerful than the original, and led to the kitchen supplies closet. The room was about the size of his own room but taller. All four walls were covered in shelves filled with jars of preserved food and dried meat. Charles took one jar of crackers and one jar of orange marmalade and opened them. As he walked away from the room he kept dipping the crackers into the marmalade, scooping the sweet, tart mixture and eating it. The next room he entered was the kitchen. It was full of people and elves working on the meal. It smelled of rich, tantalizing foods.

_'What meal?'_ Charles wondered. It was the middle of the night, close to morning. He did not try to hide himself in any way, shape or form. He simply walked around the people and elves liked he had every right to be there, still eating the crackers and marmalade. A woman looked at him reproachably. Guiltily, Charles offered her a cracker bathed in marmalade.

"You should know better than take from the pantry," she reproached in the same weird German that all the other wizards spoke, a mix between an older, more traditional German and new words.

"I'm sorry. I was really hungry," Charles responded with the same accent and the long-drawn-out words. He had heard enough during the day to be able to some what imitate it.

"Give it to me," she demanded. Charles handed his bounty with obvious reluctance, "I won't tell anyone but see that it doesn't happen again," she told him sternly, but kindly.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Now, go to work. And don't let me see you slacking off again."

Charles lowered his head, "Yes, ma'am."

She gave him a confused look, as if trying to place his face, but in the end shook her head, looked at him with pity and went off, murmuring, "Each day they take them younger," to herself.

Charles walked out the kitchens and into a few progressively more lavish rooms. The security was very lax in this place, Charles thought. He entered and exited rooms as if he owned the place and no one stopped him.

True, he didn't meet with too many people, other than servants. And Charles waved at them and smiled each time he saw them, provoking a frown and a tentative wave back. People were so afraid of making fools out of themselves by asking: _Do I know you?_ That they simply pretended they did. In a place as big as this, it was common to see new faces.

"You are here!" A voice exclaimed.

Charles turned with a large smiled and with an equally excited voice said, "I am here!"

"Norman, remember me?" the elderly man said with a smile. It was the elderly that had been close to the entrance and that Charles had charged with organising groups to help inside the building.

"Of course I remember you!" _It's been less than an hour._ "You did a great job organising teams to help, a lot of people were saved thanks to you."

The elderly man with his round belly and white hair visibly preened and puffed like a bird. "Yes, well. I did only what anyone else would have done in my position."

"Nonsense!" Charles exclaimed. "You went above and beyond the call of duty."

Charles was getting scary good at inflating egos. He blamed Tom. As he did with most things, whether Tom was at fault or not.

The man opened his mouth to respond but Charles started coughing violently. The man handed him a hanky that got black from the soot in Charles' lungs and red from blood. Good thing he wasn't going in a covert mission, Charles thought as his body shook with the force of coughing out the foreign particles from his lungs.

"Come, come, I'll take you to the Healing ward." Charles nodded and let Norman guide him through a series of long corridors, two staircases down and the third door on the right and to a large room full of beds, patients and healers. It was with great sadness that Charles stood in front of a depleted potion's cabinet. It was the first potions' cabinet he has been allowed to be in front of without supervision in what felt like a lifetime and it was almost empty.

"It seems we arrived bit too late," Norman commented with regret, looking at Charles with pity. Charles opened the warded cabinet and took what was left, a calming draught, a pepper-up potion and half a pot of soothing salve. Technically speaking, calming draughts and pepper-up potions should not be taken together. It was either one or the other because of their opposing effects. But.

"Can you find me some lemon juice, or perhaps orange, maybe even sour apples or tomatoes?" Charles asked, with what he hoped was a blasé attitude.

"I'll see what I can find," Norman said as he moved towards the healers, perhaps to ask them for assistance. Norman came back with tomato juice, which was fine.

Charles lowered the temperature of both potions to just above freezing, mixed them together and kept the mix cold so it wouldn't react until he lowered the pH by adding tomato juice. The mix turned into a dark blue and Charles kept adding tomato juice until the mix was a clear purple, signalling that the pH was acidic.

On the shelves he was lucky enough to find some pixie dust that served as a great stabiliser and finished the mixture with a few drops of alcohol to bring back the mixture to a more neutral pH. Charles downed the potion in one go, immediately feeling the effects. A tiny, minuscule, part of him felt guilty, but this time he really, really needed it. (_Just like all those other times…_ a voice whispered in his mind.)

Norman coughed nervously. "You sure do know your way around potions," he twiddled with his thumbs and combed his receding hair with a hand. "Very, very well. Almost like…but no," he looked away and then looked at Charles measuring, "you are too young. Perhaps a family member? With…well, _you know_," he looked at Charles pointedly and theatrically whispered, "addiction."

Only Potion-addicts knew how to work around the limitations of potions to be able to consume a variety of potions in one go, thus receive all the effects without the usual repercussions. Addicts usually die before documenting their results, and in general, were not very good bookkeepers to begin with. Masters of their craft, yes, but only to their own gain and to feed an ever-growing addiction. They were not respected in the potion community or even acknowledged as anything more than addicts.

It was considered an addiction when the person begins to depend on potions to be calm, cheerful, alert… or when the person stops functioning if they didn't use potions (stop sleeping, depressive, angry, aggressive).

"Uncle. Tragic case. Thankfully, he got help before it was too late," Charles commented lightly.

"Good, good. Glad to know it was not you." Norman still looked a tad suspicious but even Charles could see the doubts erasing as he rationalised that he was too young. (Or whatever else excuse he used to dismiss the obvious.)

"Now for some lung-clearing potion…" Fifteen steps, a mirage of household products and several steps of distilling later, he had a homemade lung-clearing potion. With a dropper and his head thrown back, he carefully pushed seven drops of the potion through his nose, which had the horrible effect of forcing the body to eject the foreign material by an involuntary fit of coughs. When Charles stopped coughing he was on the floor and gasping for breath.

"Horrible potion, that one," Norman commented, helping him get up. Charles drank water deemed himself good as new. Or as good as he was going to get.

"Is there something else I can help you with?" Norman asked.

"If you could point me in the general direction of Oswald Volker, that would be splendid."

"Lieutenant General Volker? Are you sure? He doesn't like to be interrupted…"

"He'll want to know I'm here," Charles insisted.

Norman hesitated, "It is late, he's probably with the other lieutenants discussing the rebel attack on The Misuse of Magic Department. Maybe it would be better in the morning. I can find you a room to stay the night."

"I'm not sure he'll like me being here the entire night without his knowledge. Besides he was the one to invite me, it would be rude not to let him know I arrived."

"I don't know…" Norman hesitated. "It's a pretty important meeting."

"Trust me, he'll want to know."

"Maybe we can wait until it ends," Norman said nervously.

"It is rather urgent. Maybe you can accompany me to the door and I'll wait until the meting ends. You know how Volker is about delaying important information." Charles was going on a hunch and assuming Volker was a slave driver and not a very forgiving one. His gamble paid off and Norman visibly relaxed as understanding filled him. No one made Volker wait.

"I knew you were of the good sort the moment I saw you," he said with a fatherly pat and a wink.

Charles wondered if his opinion would hold if he told him about his ancestry. Probably not.

-0-

Oswald Volker was loved by his superiors and hated by his inferiors. While Gellert's charismatic, powerful and well-spoken personality brought unity, money and manpower to a common cause, Oswald brought fear and obedience to the militia. Both aspects were equally important in war. A war was not fought with happy soldiers but obedient ones.

Not many things scared someone like Oswald Volker, he has lived all his live in hell and surrounded by monsters. He was usually The Monster in most stories, the one everyone feared. That is, until he saw one little boy, no taller than his waist, thin as a rail and with the prettiest eyes he had ever seen, bring down the Devil himself in one of the most horrific moments he has ever lived.

He has never been a religious man. If there is any deity out there it had long forgotten him. But that day he prayed. He prayed with all he got, promised everything from his mother to his firstborn child and every pair of sock he has ever own. He had been sure he wouldn't be walking out of that fight. He had seen his death and all the people he has killed waving him from the Other side.

To this day he was not sure what he had been fighting against. His mind played tricks on the event. Sometimes he remembers demonic dragons, sometimes he is sure they were worms and sometimes he swears they were black phantoms of all he has killed reaching out for him. A known enemy he can handle, can fight against, can kill. The Unknown on the other hand, is unbeatable.

Volker is not just bulk and muscle, he's a smart man. That's why when he left the meeting with the lieutenants and saw a small boy, taller than the one three years before, but still tiny in comparison with him, he did not react outwardly. Even as the blood left his face and his hands trembled, he did not react overtly, not as he wanted to. He wanted to sound the alarm, call every guard, every sentinel, every man in the building and put half of them guarding the boy while he killed the other half for being incompetent morons.

"Volker! I decided to take you up on that offer after all."

"What offer?" Grindelwald asked, coming from behind to look curiously at the child demon.

"I offered a room to the saviour of the day. Master Grindelwald, this is the boy that helped rescue the citizens from the burning building."

"How…out of character of you," Grindelwald looked down at the boy. "He is awfully pretty but a tad young. I didn't know that was to your taste." Grindelwald looked fiercely at Volker and smiled a shark like grin. Volker's jaw was almost at its breaking point, his face flushed dark red and his hands clenching and unclenching. He liked women, curvy, beautiful, sassy women and to be called a fairy was deeply insulting to his manliness.

"We are having dinner now. Your boy-toy should come. Maybe we can share."

"We will be there shortly," Volker replied in clipped words. "I'll show him to his room."

Grindelwald laughed a taunting, mocking and knowing laugh, winked and turned around to leave.

Volker walked in stony silence to his rooms, the only place he could trust he wouldn't be overheard. By morning every man, woman and child will know he had a young, handsome boy in his quarters but he saw no other choice.

"How did you get in?" Volker roared (from a safe distance and with wand on hand.)

"You invited me, remember?" the boy said casually, not pulling out a wand and standing casually. If Volker hadn't known what this kid was capable of, if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, he wouldn't have believed it, wouldn't have dreamed the kid standing in front of him was dangerous. But he knew. He had felt the magic that flowed through his body, almost raw magic, more than Gellert could ever dream of having.

"What do you want? Did you come to finish the war? Are you one of the rebels now" Volker asked instead. He had invited the kid so he wouldn't be part of the fight he knew was going to happen that night. If the rebels managed to convince the kid to be one of them the war was over. He was strangely hopeful of that outcome, he was tired of the war, even if he believed in it, believed Gellert was the right leader for the people. And this was the only life he knew of.

"No. Don't care about your war. And your rebels leave much to be desired as moral pillars." The kid looked at Volker as if he should be ashamed for the lack of quality in the rebels, as if it was his fault the rebels left much to be desired.

That threw Volker out of balance. "What did you come here for?"

"It's cold out. Need a warm bed, a bath and an intercontinental porkey out of the country for fifty people no questions asked."

"What do I get in return?"

"Nothing. I'm not bargaining."

"You want something from me–"

"And you are going to give it to me," the kid interrupted.

Volker tightened his hold in his wand. Were this someone else, he would have struck with a _crucio_ and sent the culprit to the cellar for a week without food or water. But being who it was, he only breathed deeply and prayed for fortitude.

The kid went to his bed and sat, took out his boots and made himself confortable. A vein became visible in his neck and forehead.

"What are you going to do if I don't?"

"Are you willing to find out?"

Volker stayed silent. He observed the boy, looking for pretence. But he wasn't sure what to read from this boy. The kid was making himself confortable on the bed. Did he look tired? Yes, he was looking worn out. Volker couldn't feel any magic coming from him, he hadn't felt any magic in him in the afternoon. It was like he was a squib or muggle trash. It made him hesitant to attack.

Normally he wouldn't take threats from kids seriously. Boys liked to pretend they were all that and could take on the world by themselves but he knew this boy could actually do it. He had a few theories, time travel, soul switch, polyjuice, de-aging potion… He had a feeling the truth was much more unbelievable.

"I don't think you are in the position to attack me and all others that will come when I sound the alarm of intruder."

"You'll be dead by the time they come."

"And you won't have the porkey you want. Only I have the power to authorize an intercontinental porkey for a large group without questions being raised. Unless you want to take this up with Grindelwald…"

"What do you want?"

"For you to take a few drops of veritaserum."

"If you make a vow that you'll fulfil the end of your deal after I take the drops."

Volker smiled victoriously even as he was wary of the easy acceptance. Maybe he was as dumb as any kid and didn't know what was veritaserum. Volker made the vow and took out the veritaserum he carried with him at all times. A trusted friend and potion master made it for him and he was sure of its high quality.

The kid opened his mouth and let five drops touch his tongue. Volker looked closely to make sure the drops entered. The kid closed his eyes and for the first time Volker felt some of his magic. It was just like the last time, almost raw, addicting and powerful.

"What is your name?"

"Charles Gustav."

"Last name?"

"Wasn't born with one."

"Why not?"

"My mother was disinherited and my father's father was also disinherited. There was no last name to give me."

"Why?"

"My mother was not Veela enough and my grandfather was a squib."

Volker stared. "You are impure?" he asked in surprise.

"No. Well, yes, by your standards. No, by mine. Yes."

"All right, stop it. Who is your father?" he demanded.

"Frank."

"What does he do?"

"He's a farmer."

"Just a farmer?"

"He likes to build things as well."

"What are you?"

"Human. Wizard. Veela."

"Explain in detail what happened that day three years ago."

"No."

"No?"

"No. Seems the drug is all out of my system. Now, that vow."

"You cheated!"

"And you are surprised, why?"

Volker took a deep breath. He had been outmanoeuvred. The Vow started tugging at him, the kid's part had been fulfilled now he had to fill his part.

-0-

Porkey in hand, Charles walked out of the room. _Well, that was easy_, he thought. The pain in his chest where the potion had burn through reminded him otherwise.

"Where do you think you are going?"

Charles stopped, closed his eyes and hoped he had heard wrong.

"I do believe I _invited_ you to dinner." Invited very much sounded like ordered. Charles turned around slowly to see the familiar figure of a tall, blond man with greying hair. Grindelwald turned around and walked away. Two officers, one at each side, escorted Charles to the dinning table.

He was directed to the seat besides and equally forced Volker, Grindelwald at the head of the table and nine other uniformed men at the table.

The silence was uncomfortable.

"Well then," Grindelwald interrupted the silence with a pleased smile. "Now that we are all here, we can begin." Food magically appeared at the table. He reached for his spoon, the first course was soup, and noticed all the utensils had been imbedded with the truth potion. Not just his, but everyone's.

Charles had a feeling this was going to be a very uncomfortable dinner. And a very silent one. He looked at the doors. Guards on every door. Well then, dinner was only an hour or two affair. He could bear through. And he _was_ hungry. Very much so.

Grindelwald waited until the second course to break the silence. By then everyone had tasted the food.

"What are you called, boy?" Grindelwald asked with a large, toothy smile.

"Charlie." He was called Charlie, but only by the more annoying of Hogwarts population.

"Your real name boy," he snapped. The abrupt turn of mood made Charles suspect he was bipolar.

"Charles Gustav." He didn't give his last name, the potion didn't demand it since, technically, it was just a name he had made up as a child to forge papers.

"You sound like you are from the country." Meaning he didn't have the accent common to those raised in the city.

"I am. Born and raised in a farm near the magical community of Lichtenfels."

"And your parents?"

"My mother was from France and my father's family from Herford."

"You are what? Ten, eleven?"

"Twelve."

"Old enough to be in school. Why are you not in the winter training session like all the other young boys?"

"I study at Hogwarts."

"You do?" he asked in surprise. "Tell me, how is that devil Dumbledore?"

"Nauseatingly cheerful. Blindly optimistic. Disgustingly naïve. Clueless about the true nature of people."

"Still the same I see." Grindelwald answered with a raucous laugh. "Why did you come to my lovely abode on this particular night?"

"To ask a favour of Mr Volker."

"And what favour might that be?" he asked with interest.

"A portkey to London." Charles did not add any details to this and Grindelwald, piecing all the information given thus far, assumed it was a personal portkey for him to get back home.

Thankfully, after that he let off on Charles and continued with everyone else in the table. Apparently he was already bored with Charles. He was a twelve year old, there was no need to dig further. Twelve year olds did not smuggle half a hundred people out of a war torn country.

-0-

"Did you get it?"

"Of course I got it. Did the werewolves agree?"

"They did," Isaac said quickly. Something about the way he said it made Charles suspicious.

"What did you offer them in exchange?"

"You."

"Please explain. I want to know what should I write under 'cause of death'."

"The werewolves agreed to accept the three wolves. The Goblins offered to donate the money needed for the supplies for the entire winter and the Vampires the land to set up the tents for the small price of a duel with one of each of them."

Charles rubbed his forehead. "Why couldn't you offer something else?"

"They wanted to see you fight, see how the best of them faced off against you. They did not want money, gold or favours. Just that. And you didn't give me much time to work with. Besides, you can do it."

"I am honour by your trust. Especially since it is not your neck that's on the line."

_Being noble always, always, came at a high price_, Charles thought sourly. Being evil was so much easier. He could understand the appeal.

"How are we going to get in again? The portal won't open to us this time and the wards were pretty advanced."

"I have a way of getting in and out most wards."

"What way?" Isaac asked with suspicion tinted with tiredness. They had both been without sleep for more than thirty long hours.

"You'll just have to trust me on the details."

"Trust you? Yeah, why not? I already yelled at my alpha so why not do something else equally suicidal? My day couldn't possibly be any worse."

-0-

"Correction. _Now_, my day couldn't get any worse."

"A slight miscalculation."

"The lives I never meet you are always more peaceful," Isaac commented as he picked himself up from the dirty floor.

"The lives I never meet _me_ are always more peaceful."

Isaac looked at him weirdly for that comment but Charles did not elaborate.

**Present time**,

Charles picked up the paper to see the front-page news: _**Minister Nott bans excrement-flavoured sweets**_**. **On one of the last pages, on a small paragraph in the corner read:

_**The German Magical Ministry imprisoned the criminals responsible for brutal fire that killed 78 wizards and witches and 17 children.**_ In a surprising turn of events the wards protecting the criminals malfunctioned. The German Aurors wasted no time in apprehending the criminals.


	42. Chapter 42: Charity Gala

Chapter 42: Charity Gala part I

International News

_**The German Magical Ministry imprisoned the criminals responsible for brutal fire that killed 78 wizards and witches and 17 children**__._

_In a surprising turn of events the wards protecting the criminals malfunctioned. The German Aurors wasted no time in apprehending the criminals. It is still unknown why the wards malfunctioned. It is speculated it was an inside job. This band of criminals has more than twenty charges against them, including kidnap, obstruction of justice, and manslaughter. A public execution will be held in the main courtyard at 6 pm after a hearing…_

"Find something?" Tom asked over his breakfast, mildly curious look on his face.

Charles closed the newspaper and put it beside his plate. "No. Minister Nott banning sweets to be seen doing something while the rest of the country falls apart, everyone happily ignores there's a war on both sides of the fence and food grows short," Charles replied with disgust.

The fact that the banning of sweets was first page news just went to show where the priorities of the country were. The people did not want to read about war, they wanted to close their eyes tightly and pretend it wasn't happening and the newspaper and Minister were more than happy to serve the people.

Unlike Charles, Tom saw no use in reading the day-to-day nonsense that in no way affected his life, like the banning of disgusting sweets.

He and Tom were at the breakfast table and, for the moment, alone. It was five in the morning; not even the birds were awake. The outside world was dark and still. Yet they were all at the breakfast table, relatively awake and ready to start the day.

The long table was full of fresh food and lit candles. The moving flickers of the candle creating dancing shadows all around the room.

"Pass me a bun," Tom demanded quietly. Charles extended his hand without paying much attention and grabbed the first bun his hand touched.

"No –not one of those. The ones with the cream on top." Charles moved his hand to the correct plate. "That one has a crease; the one under it. –Yes, that one."

Charles passed the perfect cream-filled bun and continued with his breakfast, unfazed by Tom's demands.

"How was the party?" Charles asked curiously. The reason he had stayed with Martha had been because the rest of the family had been attending to a party that had been deemed 'too risky' for him to attend. Ironic how that worked out.

"Boring. How was Diagon Alley?" Tom asked as he looked up from his breakfast and looked at Charles with interest. "You came late."

It was not said accusingly and Tom did not even look interested in the answer but Charles knew a mine trap when he heard one.

"It was eventful," Charles said, in a tone that was neither too casual nor too directed. "I got your gift," Charles said in an attempt to distract Tom.

Tom narrowed his eyes and slowly chewed on the cream-filled bun while he watched Charles with intense eyes. It would have made Charles uncomfortable, had he not been used to it.

"And are you cold or hiding under that sweater?" Tom asked after he had cleaned the cream from his mouth with a napkin.

The house was always maintained at a perfect temperature, if not on the warm side, because Annabelle and Frank's past injures were sensible to cold temperature. Charles rolled his eyes, as he normally would have done at Tom's suspicion and answered normally.

"Martha got pissed-off out of the peppermint fire-whisky winter special in the Leaky. Two shots for one and a free shot every time you hit a number of shots ending with five." Charles said in exasperation, as he normally would have done.

It looked natural. _Too natural_, in Tom's opinion.

"She was barking mad by ten o'clock," Charles continued. "When I tried to pry her off the bar she scratched me like a hellcat, at first because she thought I was an Auror trying to haul her off to a holding cell, then she realized it was me and scratched me even harder, the old hag. Then she decided to fly and got a flying-while-intoxicated fine and a night in the cell."

Martha had been hiding from the wizarding world when they found her at the small flower shop. It had taken a lot of money, unscrupulous lawyers and a corrupt ministry for her to be pardoned. Even Tom had raised his brows at her long list of offences. Drinking, and flying while drinking, while cackling like mad and ogling girls through windows, was mild, for her.

"And you?" Tom questioned.

"She told the Aurors my family owns the Japanese Quidditch team and I got the cell next to her for being 'unpatriotic'. She's off my Christmas list. She should seriously consider kicking the bucket. Here jail trips are starting to get too expensive."

Charles wasn't even lying. He was just telling the story _now_. It happened last week and it hadn't happened in the Alley but at an event Charles had attended that celebrated this year's success in his pet project. He hadn't been able to escape it since he was, after all, the president, owner and head of the Alexandria Project.

Alexandria Project was Charles' venture into discovering the truth about souls, time, resurrection, multiple universes and Them. Not that anyone else knew what he was searching; they only knew that Charles was turning every rock in the planet to find it. So far, nothing had come up, but in the process he had ended up with hundreds of thousands of books, manuscripts and a hell lot of things, everything from jewels from past Emperors, to charmed precious objects and cursed golems. Something that the nineteen teams he had in employment around the world misguidedly considered a success.

The party had gotten boring and oppressively formal so he had left with his babysitter to a nearby magical street. Thus, ended up staying the night in a cell because he had looked to be in his late forties and not twelve, therefore capable of staying the night in a cell.

Tom hummed.

"Pass me the sugar," Charles asked. Tom looked at him with a slight frown before passing the delicate ceramic bowl.

"Why are you eating lamb?" Tom asked.

Charles shrugged. "It's good," he answered without looking up from his meal.

Charles extended his arm to grab a cracker and quick as a snake Tom grabbed his hand. Charles looked at him questioning, silently asking what he was doing.

Tom did not respond, or let go of his hand when Charles tugged. Tom slowly directed their intertwined hands to the lit candles in the middle of the table, closely looking at Charles' reaction. Without being able to control it, Charles snatched his hand back before it touched the fire.

They stared at each other for a moment.

"You never eat lamb at breakfast or use refined sugar in your tea." Tom accused. "Why are you avoiding getting near a candle's flame, when you can control an inferno? What really happened last night? _Tell me!_" Tom demanded sharply.

Charles felt the strong, forceful magic in the command swirling around him. It was a special trick Tom had known since before Charles: how to command animals and, to a limited degree, humans. Had Charles been another, someone with a weaker will, he would have been compelled to answer.

"Stop trying to control me!" Charles snapped with true anger. His magic rising warningly.

"Then tell me!"

"I already told you -"

"Lies," Tom interrupted, raising his voice.

"Not lies-"

"So a night in a cell suddenly made you flinch from fire? What do you take me for?"

"I did not _flinch _from the fire;I was wary of you intentions, as I should be."

"You flinched. From the wisp of a candle."

"You are overreacting. I felt like eating something different today, not all of us can eat the same thing every morning, and I don't trust you with my arm for long periods of time, big deal. If I remember correctly, the last time you had my arm unsupervised you tattooed your name on my wrist, so forgive me for being wary," Charles responded acidly.

"No," Tom said with a suddenly closed off face. "That's not it. You are hiding something. I can feel it."

"Check your internal compass; it's obviously broken."

Tom's face turned red and the chandelier above their heads swung slightly to an invisible current of air.

The double door opened with a loud creak and a more than half-asleep Penelope entered the breakfast room, breaking the tension.

The conversation was dropped but the tension and glares made the air heavy.

The recently turned nine-year-old fell into Charles' lap and continued to sleep there; unaware or uncaring of the fight she just walked into. Morning fights were not uncommon between the pair. Charles shuffled her to the sit next to him –she was heavy, and she continued to sleep there unperturbed.

Marianne entered with Penelope's breakfast, patted Tom on the head –to which he glared at her turned back, kissed Charles on the head and left to continue with her chores.

They had all been ordered awake to eat breakfast because the cooks were going to be too busy preparing the food for tonight to make breakfast at their usual time.

"Charles," Penelope called his attention suddenly. Her curly hair looked as if it had exploded and her pyjamas were rumpled but she looked more like her usual hyper self after eating. "What would you do if the three of us were in front of a vampire and he asks for one sacrifice? Only two of us can survive."

Tom rolled his eyes. Last time she had asked if they were deserted on the Forbidden Forest and needed to eat a human to survive, the time before that it was man-eating spiders…

"Well, you know, Tom has been my best friend since I was six. He has always been there for me when I needed him the most and I love him beyond words, so of course I would build him a marble mausoleum and paint it in gold. But that's depending on the price of marble. If it is too expensive, I'll mourn him silently." Charles winked playfully at her. If it looked forced, she didn't notice.

She laughed until she snorted and looked triumphantly at Tom as if saying '_see, he favours me more!'_

"I would try to convince the vampire to take two sacrifices so I can finally get rid of you and Charles. It would be an ideal Christmas gift." Tom responded with narrowed eyes.

"Of course you wouldn't, Tommy," Charles provoked. "You love me."

Tom caressed the butter knife lovingly.

As if called by his murderous intentions, Annabelle entered the room. "No throwing knifes at the breakfast table!" she snapped. "It's too early for this," she murmured as she sat on the table and served herself a cup of strong tea. "Today is going to be a long, stressful day as it is. I don't need you two having an all out war on top of it."

"A war? Isn't that a tad dramatic?" Charles asked with a mouth full of eggs.

"Chew," Annabelle reproached automatically. "A war against my sanity," she muttered.

"Here, here," Frank supported, as he entered the room and dropped ungracefully into a chair. Immediately serving himself a plate brimming with food and a strong cup of tea.

"Do we really have to do this?" Charles asked, looking at his mother imploringly. "I'll donate all the money you need, liquefy a few investments and set up an account if you cancel this tonight," he begged.

"Charles, we've been over this." Annabelle said, buttering a bun with much more force than necessary. "It is important to bring awareness to the community and for the community to participate and feel part of the change," she repeated, for what felt like millionth time. This week.

"It's a circus is what it is," Charles muttered.

"Charles!" she snapped. Charles mouth closed with a snap and he mutilated his eggs with his fork.

"It is an unnecessary dangerous situation," he said with anger.

"Charles Gustav, I'm not going to have this conversation one more time," she said in anger. "It is the day of the event and too late to change anything. Please, let us eat breakfast in peace."

"You are inviting trouble into our _home_!"

"_Enough!_"

The chair screeched loudly as Charles got up. With long, fast steps he left the room, slamming the door on his way out.

There was a moment that everyone stared in shocked silence.

Annabelle covered her face with her hands, breathed deeply and continued to eat her breakfast in the tense silence that followed.

Tom was the first out of his chair but Frank held a hand, "Stay. I'll go and talk to him."

With obvious reluctance, Tom sat again.

Frank found Charles pacing in a nearby room. Frank entered and closed the door; Charles did not stop his pacing.

"How dangerous?" Frank asked with a resigned sigh and weary eyes.

"Very," Charles snapped, not stopping his pacing and angrily glowering at the floor.

"This day is very important for your mother. She's been planning for it for a year."

Charles stopped in front of window and stared unseeingly at the still dark sky.

"I know."

Frank stared at his son's back. He was not seeing his twelve-year-old son throwing a temper because he didn't want to go to a party, he was seeing a man, a man worried about the safety of his family, a man with fears and troubles and responsibilities. A man he was learning to respect. Frank walked forward and put a supporting hand on Charles' shoulder.

"What are we going to do to make sure they are safe?"

"Everything," Charles responded without hesitation, his intense blue eyes burning the horizon.

The first rays of morning illuminated the valley red.

-0-

"They have been strangely quiet and obedient," Annabelle mused to her husband as she looked out the window from their room. Frank made a muffled sound as he buttoned his shirt.

There was a long pause.

"They are planning a war, aren't they?"

"No," Frank lied.

"Liar."

Frank sighed heavily and turned to look at his wife. "Yes."

"I figured as much." She turned back to look at him, "It's your turn to stop them."

Frank's eyes widened. "I stopped them from attacking Colombia. It's your turn."

Annabelle crossed her arms and simply said, "Two years ago. March." With that simple reminder, she won the argument.

Frank sighed. "Anna…"

"You agree. You agree with what he's doing," she accused in a low, accusing voice.

"Yes."

"Why?" she asked with fury. "Nothing is going to happen! Why must everything be a battle? Why must our lives revolve around war? I just wanted this _one_ thing. This one, little thing."

"Our lives are not our own. We knew that since he was old enough to walk. For better or worse, fate knocked on our door and we have to live with the cards we were dealt with."

"You and fate," Annabelle said with familiar irritation.

"Well, what else can it be?"

"_Nothing_ is controlling our family. And nothing is going to happen tonight."

"Maybe. Maybe nothing is going to happen. I don't know, Anna. And that scares me." Frank pushed his hair back in frustration, a gesture his son mimics perfectly when aggravated. "After all we've been through… We have always trusted Charles. _You_ have always trusted Charles. Implicitly. Why are you doubting him now?"

The silence was heavy. Frank sighed. The sullen silence and tense pout telling Frank all he needed to know.

"I know you don't want to face the possibility of someone attacking tonight but I think it's better to be safe than sorry. If all goes well, we'll laugh about it tomorrow, well, not tomorrow," he amended, "but someday. If not… If not, we'll be prepared."

-0-

The morning quickly turned cloudy, promising more snow in the future. The grounds were covered with a light blanket of muddy snow from last night's and the air was crisp and fresh.

A flash of blue illuminated the house and its immediate surroundings for a second before disappearing. Only a few stopped to see what was happening with curious eyes, the rest continued with what they were doing, so used they were by now to the random flashes of magic, sound and light.

It was noon; only five hours for the guests to start arriving and the preparations were still in full swing.

"Hair, skin and blood removal? Someone is slightly paranoid," a voice drawled.

"What took you so long?" Charles snapped. He would recognize that annoying drawl anywhere. Charles cleaned his sweaty brow with the edge of his shirt and turned around. This time when he met Isaac's eyes they were the same height.

Isaac unwittingly found himself observing the man in front of him. If he had not been able to recognize the aura, the essence basically, of someone who was like him, he wouldn't have recognized this man as Charles Winter. The man in front of him did not smell or feel the same way. Yes, he somewhat looked like an older version of Charles but only in the same way a parent or a close family member might resemble. Clearly it was something more complicated than a simple aging potion.

"So this is how you do it," Isaac mused. "I've wondered."

Charles eyes strayed to the surrounding terrain, looking for someone else that might be accompanying Isaac.

"You're alone," Charles remarked in a flat, emotionless voice.

Isaac nodded, silently confirming Charles' suspicions. Charles made a hand signal for him to follow and he followed Charles through the muddy snow to a nearby shed to the side of the manor.

Isaac followed after a moment of hesitation. The man walking in front of him was tall and well built, with a head full of dark hair that had premature traces of white, average brown eyes and a five o'clock shadow that was very frowned upon in polite company.

Eyes turned to watch them. As always, no matter what body Charles inhabited, the name he used, the man had a magnetic pull, a presence and an inner power that had nothing to do with magic but everything to do with a self-confidence that pulled others to him, dragging even the most unwilling to his toxic net.

Isaac couldn't phantom what was so special about him. The man, or boy, was a reckless nutcase that couldn't be trusted to care for an earthworm without turning it into a man-eating beast. The fact that he eventually slayed the beast and saved thousands doesn't quite make up for the fact that he created the mess in the first time, at least, in his opinion.

Charles opened the door to the shed and let the werewolf enter before closing the door again. The werewolf was dressed in surprisingly normal winter attire: a long black coat, black sacks and hat. Everything used and worn around the edges, but in good condition.

_Maybe he had a life outside of simply being a werewolf_, Charles thought uncharitably.

"What did you find?" Charles asked. Charles had passed the information Olive Hornby had given him to Isaac so he could contact them.

"I found the gravestone of one of them. It dated back to twenty years ago. A fire, I found out later from newspapers."

"And the other one?" Charles asked after a long pause.

"Doesn't live there anymore. The family moved, no one knows where or why."

Charles nodded stiffly. Two. So far it was only the two of them against an entire Universe. And an enemy that sneaked unnoticed into their world like ghostly tendrils. Beings that crept into the minds of humans, both great and ordinary, and turned them into puppets, killing and destroying everything in their path in their quest to become, ironically, like the universe they were trying to destroy.

They were terrifying because they were not mindless creatures of destruction, but beings with a purpose, a plan and a future to look forward to. A future they were willing to fight dirty for, and that was scarier than any dark monster in a closet.

Logical foes with well-defined ambitions. The nightmare of every war general that has ever existed because they were the ones that could wait an eternity with patience and carry out their plans with meticulous precision.

"So, you think they'll attack tonight?" Isaac asked when the silence stretched.

"I don't know," Charles said in frustration, a hand pulling at his now black and white hair. The frown on his face made the age lines around his mouth and forehead prominent. "They have killed me in the quiet of the night with no one to witness, in the middle of a dramatic battle with a sword, indirectly by sending someone else. Sometimes they just wait and let me be killed by my own heroics, or old age, or an accident. I'm not sure if they _have_ a modus operandi." Charles responded with frustration. He looked curiously at Isaac. "And you?"

"I don't dwell on those memories. You shouldn't either. Only madness can come from that."

Charles made a frustrated sound. _Yes, yes, a real chance of becoming mad, as Olive Hornby proved, but the information would be really useful right now. What's the point of having it, if you are not going to use it? It was their only advantage after all..._

"If you are not sure they are going to attack; and they are not attacking _right now_, why I'm I here?" Isaac asked in a bored tone of voice.

Charles looked at him unbelieving. "…preventive measure."

"I'm not staying at this rich folk's gala as bodyguard. I have better things to do."

"Let me rephrase that: I have strong evidence proving there _might_ be an attack tonight."

"Show me," Isaac demanded, calling out his lie.

"We have to go up to my room." Charles looked pained. "If someone asks: I am torturing you for information."

"And that's a better alternative than saying…?"

"That we actually _like_ each other and willingly want to be in each other's presence."

Isaac looked at Charles flatly, "I'm sure no one would dare make that mistake."

The walk up to the house took twice as long than it should have because Charles stopped every few paces to scream at someone.

"Take those weapons to the second floor. No –no through the main door you dolt! Go through the back door. Don't let anyone see you."

"Move the perimeter farther. I want the whole property covered," Charles ordered to the Ward Masters.

"Hey you! Yes, you! Don't touch those orbs unless you want to experience first hand what it's like to be reduced to a million tiny particles."

"I do not care what Annabelle said," he snapped at a poor guard who was brave enough to speak his mind. "I'm in charge and if I say I want armoured guards then there's going to _be_ armoured guards… Just throw a potent notice-me-not charm and maybe some invisibility spell over the arms."

"You in charge? From here it seems like your mother is in charge, not you," Isaac provoked. Instead of rising to the bait and angrily defending that he, undeniably, was in charge, Charles shrugged it off, surprising Isaac.

"She rules the world, I only manage it," Charles responded easily. Isaac mused that it was something like she ruled him and Charles believed himself to be the ruler of the world, so in default, she ruled the world.

"What is this?" Charles snapped at a group siting and eating, "Tea break? –I don't bloody care you haven't eaten! Get back to work. I want the whole property under globe surveillance by sun down." The group quickly scattered and ran off.

They entered the house and Isaac mentally started memorizing the exits and windows, paying close attention to possible hidden places.

"I swear, if Annabelle so much of as smells one of you," Charles said to two of the young boys holding a crate of weapons in the middle of the main corridor, "I'll feed you to the serpent."

"You seem to have everything under control," Isaac commented. "I mean, weapons, wards, personnel, why do you need me here for?"

"You have never fought them, have you?" Charles asked knowingly. That sort of comment spoke of inexperience.

"Not that I remember," Isaac shrugged.

"Trust me, it's a fight you are not likely to forget."

Isaac looked at him with a raised eyebrow, silently asking him to expand.

"Let's just say, it's better to have a backup for the backup plan and there's no such thing as 'too many weapons'."

They arrived at a nondescript door on the second floor with massive amounts of warding magic.

"Who do you want to keep out so badly?" Isaac asked.

"I have a brother and two sisters, sometimes a _fidelius_ is not enough to keep them out."

Isaac only raised his eyebrows and nodded, not believing that was the whole truth but not caring enough to pursue it.

Isaac was surprised at the simple, normal room. He had unconsciously expected more. There was a large bed, drawers and a large bookcase, all in dark wood. A few still photographs of family and incomplete school essays in the desk. A few odds and ends here and there with unexplained pieces of broken electronics that drummed with magic mixed with common articles.

"I had a brother. The words 'privacy', 'private property' and 'no' were never part of his rather limited wordlist."

"How did he die?" Charles asked bluntly.

"He was my pack's last Omega. Got killed in a fight seven and half years ago."

"Why are you an Omega?" Charles took the opening to ask. It had been eating him. Isaac had a dominant and controlling personality (that clashed with Charles' own dominant and controlling personality). And as much as it pained Charles to admit, Isaac was a strong fighter and a natural leader (that still needed much practice). It was hard to imagine him anything other than Alpha. Maybe a Beta. At the lowest, nothing, just an average werewolf. _But an Omega? The lowest of the low; the one that takes a beating every time the pack was in stress?_

Isaac sighted and looked up at the ceiling.

"My pack is one of the most powerful in the world." Isaac started, still looking at the ceiling. "We are a large clan, larger than most, and that means there is a lot of daily fights and tension. Before I was Omega, at least five Omegas died each year, some years, more than ten. Most of the times, they were killed in a fight, or later died from the wounds. But sometimes they took their own life. I have been Omega for seven years, since my brother died, and in that time no one has died. That means thirty-five young wolves are alive today that wouldn't have been had I not taken their place. I am the only one _strong enough_ to be the Omega and bear the brunt of the entire pack, to fight against seven at the same time and not get killed or take it personally. Because it is also about being emotionally strong to understand the pack's need to vent out. To take the physical and verbal abuse and still be strong enough to call them brothers at the end of the day without resenting them or carrying the anger. I would love to be Alpha, but I know where I am needed most, where my pack needs me most, and I am _proud_ to be my pack's Omega."

"Why didn't you prevent your brother's death?"

"I didn't know about it. Last time I chose not to become a werewolf and left when I turned nine."

"You _chose_?"

Isaac nodded. "It is not common to other packs, but our pack is big enough to allow children to make a choice. Around nine or ten you can go through a ceremonial turning or walk out, never to return. The grand majority chooses to stay, it is their family, their way of life, all they have ever known, but a few don't. Last time I decided to walk out on everything I'd ever known to seek that elusive 'something else'. This time, I _knew_ there was nothing else."

Charles nodded while he traced patterns on the back of a book with his finger.

"Should you be telling me this?"

"Probably not," Isaac shrugged. "But whether with want to or not, we are in this together. The better we can get along, the better chances we have of getting out of this one. I'll probably never call you a friend, but we can't afford be enemies."

Charles drew the last rune and the book activated. The book disappeared and in it's place were five metal plates that formed a pentagon in the air.

The light from the room went out at Charles hand signal and the blue light from the metal plates shone brightly in the otherwise dark room. The pentagon assembled and a light flashed and a three dimensional map of the Earth made of white lines floated in the center of the plates, slowly rotating in place.

Slowly, red dots started filling the globe, mainly in populated areas.

"Nice," Isaac commented and slowly walked around the model, even going as far as touching it. The area his hand touched was enlarged and a set of data appeared right besides it.

"The red dots are reported killings. Look here," Charles changed the image, "see how in recent months the amount of killings have increased in this area and slowly moved closer. I think is one of Them making his way here or one of Us gone rouge. Frankly, I'm not sure which one is worst."

Isaac looked grim at the possibility. Someone with the amount of knowledge, experience –past and future, that they had and no sanity or sense of right and wrong could be fatal.

"How do you collect the data?"

"I have every newspaper delivered to a warehouse outside city limits. A complex web of magic sorts out the information and delivers it to a central computer-like device."

"Computer-like?"

Charles blushed. Even in the dark room the werewolf could see the intense red shade that crept from his neck to his face, even as his expression remained neutral.

"I don't actually _know_ how to build a computer. I've only ever used them, not built them or even repair them. So I used magic to create something similar."

Isaac nodded. He couldn't actually tease Charles about it because, frankly, he wouldn't know where to start building a telephone, much less a computer. Thankfully, magic could be used to recreate the same effects.

Charles coughed. "Anyway, the computer sorts the information and sends it here."

Isaac nodded in understanding and went right to business. "Show me the data again," Isaac asked and prepared himself to study it in detail. It could just be a coincidence or the killings might not be connected.

Charles mentally cursed. Isaac would find a light trend but nothing to suggest there was going to be an attack tonight.

But Charles woke up this morning with this _feeling_. The feeling that it was going to be a very, very bad day and that he should just stay in bed. Dread and foreboding had slowly been building inside him as the day progressed, making him very short tempered and snappish.

He just _knew_ something bad was going to happen. Knew it since he had opened his eyes this morning. And not bad as in 'a very boring, exhausting night full of vampires roaming around his house, werewolves sniffing the guests and goblins studying if the painted gold on the walls was really _gold_.' But bad as in '_we are all going to die tonight_' bad.

But he can just imagine how that conversation would go over with Isaac. _Yes, you should just stay because I just have this foreboding feeling. _Isaac didn't seem the type to take 'bad feeling_'_ as a sure sign of warning. For Charles, it was almost prophetic.

"I'm not sure this means anything," Isaac said just as Charles had feared. "The killings are too spread about to be anything other than random killings and the numbers are not that high to be alarming."

Before Charles could respond with what he hoped was a convincing, but mainly empty, argument, Abigael entered his room like it was her God-given right in the process ruining the dramatic ambience Charles was going for by darkening the room and taking away his opening to convince Isaac there was a justifiable reason for him to stay and not only paranoia.

She smiled blindingly at Charles, unmindful of his glare, and searched through his drawers, found what she was looking for –one of his belts of all things, and with another brilliant smile and wave, left. Charles did not even bother asking why she needed one of his belts; she would just talk for half an hour without really explaining anything until he gets fed up and lets her go without explaining herself.

"I think I might stay," Isaac said with fake casualness. It would have worked better had he not still been looking at the closed door. "Just to make sure nothing happens," he added with nonchalance.

"Stay away from my sister," Charles growled with narrowed eyes, but did not comment further. It was convenient for him so he would gash his teeth and not bite Isaac's head off. Until the end of the night.

He _needed_ Isaac to stay after all. Besides his sister was used to rejecting unwanted advances and did not need him to protect her, as she often reminded him –and he ignored. But this time he might listen. Or pretend to listen and keep a close eye anyway. Almost the same thing.

"Come," Charles said stiffly, "I'll show you the security measures I've set up."

-0-

"Master Winter, Master Winter!"

Charles heard the call and turned to see a portly woman with red hair running towards them and calling him from afar. She stopped breathless in front of him and panted for a few seconds, "Them people from the ministry are here, demanding entrance," she said with a strong Irish accent.

Charles' expression turned grim. Dumbledore had not been bluffing. He had almost forgotten about his conversation with the professor.

"I'll be right there, Nora. Please alert the others to stay away."

There were a lot of wanted muggleborns working the land, the majority hiding from the ministry to evade the prison sentence that came when they failed to pay back the money they had borrowed from the Hogwarts funds after they graduated. It didn't matter if they pay it back now, if they were found it was an immediate 5-year sentence.

Isaac walked with him to the nearby gates in silence. He had been showing Isaac the ward limits for this, the walk only took them twenty minutes.

Charles was glad, now more than ever, that he had chosen to drink the aging potion this morning. He had taken the potion this morning to better command the hired workers and Ward Masters that were unfamiliar with him. People seldom listened to a twelve year old.

The tall metal fence that surrounded the house was both a physical and a magical barrier, no one authorized could cross, magic or not. Even animals evaded the area.

Minister Nott, professor Dumbledore, ten Aurors and four other ministry workers in auxiliary positions were at the gates.

Charles stopped at the closed gate without moving to open it. Charles face was thunderous. Isaac was sorry for the poor sods at the ministry. He might think Charles was an irresponsible, stupid, immature, cocky ass with an inflated ego and a horrible God-complex, but that did not mean he wanted to get on the bad side of the man (boy?) as he did not doubt his ability to destroy.

Isaac quickly agreed to leave and come back ready for the gala in a few hours time, not really wanting to get tangled in politics. _He_ knew better than that.

Isaac disappeared from the inside of the wards, leaving him alone.

"Evening Gentlemen, to what do I owe this rather _unexpected_ visit?" Charles asked, striving for neutral, but not surprised with the sharp coldness that slid in his voice.

"Mr Winter I presume?" Minister Nott asked.

Charles nodded. The wind picked up pace, pushing and pulling at their clothes and the surrounding snow.

"We have important matters to discuss with you. Privately."

Minister Nott looked a lot like his son. In fact his features were very common in the wizarding community: dark hair, dark eyes, pale skin, tall and skinny. It was like they were all crafted from the same mould. And it was not just physical appearances the community shared, that could be easily explained by the small, secluded population, but the same attitudes. The same turned up nose and grimace of distaste for everything that _dared_ be different.

Charles crossed his arms, pleased in some dark, hidden part of his brain to be able to look intimidating. Twelve was just not a very intimidating age. Large, muscled arms and a solid chest on the other hand, tended to drive the message quite clearly.

"A little forewarning might have been appreciated."

"We were made to believe you would not have been receptive to a meeting and this was too important to wait." Minister Nott sent a barely noticeable look at Dumbledore, who was looking intensely at Charles, studying him.

Charles nodded, neither confirming nor denying that a meeting would have been turned down. In truth, the letter wouldn't have even passed the wards. If it did, Charles had a five-feet pile of unopened letters, supposedly important and urgent, that he had little intention of ever opening.

Charles thought long and hard about denying them an audience. It was tempting, and he wanted to do it only out of spite… but the trouble was not worth it.

"Well gentlemen, if you please, place your hand on the gate to confirm your identity and then we can move to a more confortable setting."

One of the assistant's face turned white with horror before he stepped back a few paces, took out his wand with shaky fingers and apparated away.

A moment of silence followed.

The party looked at each other in confusion and then, dawning realization. Professor Dumbledore was frowning and Minister Nott was turning a particular bright shade of red, a combination of anger and mortification.

"I'm sure he remembered leaving the kettle on," Charles said with as much seriousness as he could manage. A smirk on the corner of his lips betrayed his dark amusement. Watching their embarrassment brought a small flicker of joy in this otherwise annoying situation.

The wind under the righteous sail of the group visibly diminished as they silently fumed about the unknown spy in their mist. Charles suspected it was an undercover reporter, but kept his suspicions to himself.

"Grant, go after him," Minister Nott snapped. His face looked pinched as he uttered the next sentence, "… make sure his house isn't burning down." The look he sent the Auror conveyed the message that he was to capture and torture the spy for making him look like an incompetent fool.

"Well then, now that that has been taken care of, please, do come in." Charles' grin was shark like.

…

Charles sat on the armchair as his unwanted guests shuffled to the nearest couch, gaping all the while at their surroundings. He had chosen the library since it was the only place with enough chairs for the entire party. His decision had nothing to do with the fact that the library was an intimidating, impressive room. That was pure coincidence.

Tea was delivered by one of the muggleborns that never went to Hogwarts instead of Marianne. Marianne did not have any Hogwarts debt since she was a squib but she had a magical two-year-old and if word got around that she had given birth to a magical child her father, the child's grandfather, could, and possibly would, legally take him as his family's heir and Marianne would likely never see him again. It was just how the wizarding world worked.

After everyone had a cup of tea in their hands, Charles looked at Minister Nott expectantly. Minister Nott put his tea down and cleared his throat, silencing the murmuring conversations between the Aurors.

"Marvellous library you have here, Charles –can I call you Charles? Biggest in the country, I've heard. Larger than the Hogwarts library, or so they say. In my humble opinion, Hogwarts' library has a thousand years of history in its walls that makes it incomparable."

Charles only gave a slight nod, still waiting for the man to express his reason for dropping in unexpectedly and stopped wasting his time.

"Well, you wouldn't know," the Minister continued, "never having actually been to the Hogwarts library."

The comment was made casually, almost carelessly, but no one was fooled in the slightest and the previously relaxed group, tensed. The Minister was asserting their superiority over Charles by pointing out his lack of formal education.

"I could take you on a tour sometime, if you wish," the Minister offered with a shinny white smile.

"Minister, today is a rather busy day for me, if you could make this quick."

The minister bristled at being hurried. He was _The_ Minister of Magic of one of the most powerful magical communities in the world, not someone you hurry out of your home.

Minister Nott cleared his throat and opted for a more diplomatic response than the vitriol that was in his mind. "That is precisely why we are here, Mr Winter. Tonight some very dangerous people will assemble in your home, I do not wish to make any hasty accusations but it would be better in the end if you cooperate. For you and your family. If I'm not mistaken, you have two magical children under your name…It would be a terrible misfortune if they are taken back to an orphanage because you were an unsuitable caretaker."

Charles' previous coldly neutral, but not antagonistic, face did not change as he observed the assembled party. Some, like Dumbledore, looked uncomfortable with the blatant threat but others were gleefully enjoying watching their Minister bully someone else into submission.

"I'm sure it doesn't need to end in that," Professor Dumbledore said with a slight frown at the Minister. The Minister only smiled wider.

"Of course it doesn't. Mr Winter will cooperate fully, won't you Mr Winter? He is hosting a charity gala; the man has a good heart if only misguided. He has just fallen with a bad crowd. I am sure he will cooperate, not only tonight with the arrest of criminals, but financially support the war to defend our borders, won't you Mr Winter? You wouldn't want to be classified and arrested as a spy for the enemy after all. That would be just _awful_. Your fortune cannot be handled by minors, or Merlin forbid, _squibs_." The half of the assembled group chuckled, the other half, including Dumbledore, looked uncomfortable and embarrassed.

"Is that so?" Charles said. It made the Minister uneasy that he responded so normally, he had expected anger or fear by now. "If I'm not mistaken, you assured the public in the press conference last week that you had a special vault to found the war."

_Yes, your vault_, Minister Nott thought gleefully. Out loud he said, "A war is not cheap, Mr Winter. Sacrifices must be made."

The door opened and everyone turned to look at the new intruder. A solemn faced Hyperion Malfoy entered and when he saw who was accompanying Charles, his face darkened. Hyperion looked at Charles and Charles understood that Hyperion had somehow figured out too late where the Minister was headed and why.

"Mr Malfoy! I didn't know you were familiar with Mr Winter here," the Minister said with a smile. There was a silent question mark and demand at the end of that sentence.

"Yes," Charles got up and walked towards Malfoy Senior. "We have been friends for many years now. How many has it been now, Hyperion?"

"Almost six I believe," Hyperion answered stiffly. "I didn't know," he whispered in Charles' ear when Charles neared him. "Found out just now."

"I believe you, my friend." Hyperion's shoulder relaxed minutely. "There's no one on this Earth who knows you more than I do. And you might be a bastard but you are not quite _that_ stupid."

"It would have sufficed by telling me you believe me loyal and a good friend."

Charles patted Hyperion's back. "You know I'm not a good liar."

Hyperion smiled ruefully. "Liar."

"Enough with whispered secrets like lovers. Sit with us, Mr Malfoy, and save me the trip to Malfoy Manor."

"Of course Minister, if Charles permits the intrusion?"

Like an expert, Hyperion changed the balance of power back to Charles, reminding everyone who was the owner of the house and the person in charge here.

"Of course, my friend, you are always welcome."

"So I see." Minister Nott mused with fake casualness, a crafty glint in his eyes and a smile dancing on his lips. "You must have a lot of trust in Mr Malfoy, for him to be allowed through your wards and unperturbed access to your home. Why, he enters your personal library as if it was his own home! You both must be careful," he gave them a paternal, knowing look. "Rumours of _that_ kind can ruin a reputation in an instant," he snapped his fingers and smiled at them.

Charles _really_ hated the man, but he was begging to understand how he could have won the re-election.

"We are not worried about any silly rumour, are we Hyperion?" Charles said with ease, brushing it off.

"Not at all." Hyperion replied with casualness and an easy familiarity no one has ever seen before from the cold man. "After all the stunts you've pulled over the years I'm pretty sure I lost the ability to feel embarrassed," Hyperion told Charles with a shake of his head and a companionable smile.

"That's the spirit!" Charles said with cheer. So much faked cheer had him ill, but they had roles to play.

They both sat down in large, ostentations armchairs opposite from their guests that silently screamed 'I'm in charge here!'

"Mr Malfoy," the Minister's voice was all silky business, "You promise _and promise_ to contribute to the war effort and to the safety of our families, yet I have not seen any such contribution."

"I am sure you are misinformed, Minister," Hyperion responded with frown. "I have made many contributions-"

"Pittance," the minister interrupted with a scoff, "for a man of your wealth, I expected more than petty change."

There was a pregnant silence.

"I do wish, Minister, to leave a legacy to my heir and future grandchildren."

"Isn't more prudent then, Mr Malfoy," Dumbledore interrupted, "to leave your legatee with peace and a free world instead of gold and a war broken country? You have the power to change the outcome of the war, your help could save hundreds of families."

"What say does an instructor with no experience in politics have in matters of war?" Hyperion asked harshly.

"War is a heavy topic," Charles interrupted calmly, sending a warning look to Hyperion. Hyperion immediately backed down and returned to a more calmed, relaxed state. "It should be accompanied by fine firewhisky in a more appropriate setting. If you care, Mister Nott, we can take this conversation in my office where we can discuss matters calmly. I have some excellent firewhisky done with fairy water and sprinkled with pixie honey."

"Of course," Minister Nott said gracefully after a pause. He made a hand signal to two of his most trusted to follow him.

"I'm sure a private meeting is not a problem?" Charles asked.

"After all, powerful men like us do not need the interference of plebeians who would only hinder our progress," Hyperion said smoothly, putting Mr Nott in the position of choosing to look weak if he brought others with him or risk a trap by going alone.

"Very well," Minister Nott conceded. "Lead the way. I am sure we can resolve this peacefully and talk numbers with a good cup of firewhisky."

Charles led Hyperion and the Minister to his normal-looking, politician-friendly office. A relatively small room with dark red mahogany furniture and wall-to-wall bookcases full of leather bound books; richly decorated but hardly said anything about the owner. Charles picked up a folder that had been placed on his desk moments before. The secret behind every powerful man truly lied on the people he kept close to him and how well he prepared he was.

Charles skimmed through the pages, only pausing in select pieces of information. The life and lies of Raphael Theodore Nott were documented to the nauseating detail thanks to his large net of spies.

Charles smiled.

A chill went down Minister Nott's back and the hair in his arms stood up as he felt true fear in the face of that smile.

"Let's get started, shall we?" True, undiluted glee shone from Charles' brown eyes.

-0-

A pale, numb and paralyzed Minister finally managed to snap himself out of the fear induce shock of repeated 'you wouldn't'.

"On the contraire, Minister, we would. Gleefully, I might add. You threatened my family; you are just lucky to be getting out alive. My morals tend to shuffle around in the most unexpected ways when my family is threatened. As for your job and reputation…well, that all depends on you, doesn't it?"

Minister Nott nodded shakily.

"Whatever you want! I will do whatever you want," he promised with desperation.

"Wise decision."

-0-

"We are leaving," a white face Minister with almost unnoticed trembling hands commanded.

"But sir-!"

"We are leaving!"

"What about the arrests?" An Auror asked with anger, rising from his chair.

"Mr Winter has assured me of the safety of the event. It is only a charity gala after all, only upstanding citizens are attending. We had erroneous information. Mr Winter has been _kind_ enough to correct me."

"Minister, I don't think this course of action is wise…" Dumbledore interrupted with a frown, standing up.

"I have decided." Minister Nott said forcefully, his voice rising over the others. "Let us leave and not trouble Mr Winter anymore."

Reluctantly, everyone stood up to leave.

"The fireplace of the library can take you out," Charles mentioned with a smile. This received many mutters, after all they had to arrive the muggle way when they could have just floo'ed in.

With different types of goodbyes, raging from stiff and cold (the Aurors) to enthusiastic (the book lovers), everyone with the exception of Dumbledore left.

"Mr Winter, it is nice to _finally_ meet you. I have to say, it hasn't been easy contacting you."

"Pleasure. Professor Dumbledore, I presume? We haven't personally met, but my nephews talk a lot about you."

Dumbledore looked worried.

"Yes, they are…quite a pair. I'm not sure if I should be worried about what they are saying about me," he chuckled weakly, still looking worried.

Charles laughed gamely. "Boys will be boys. They can be hard some days, but they're good kids." Tom might be a sociopath and he might not be much better but, for the most part, they were well adapted to live in society.

Most of the time.

With proper precautions.

Tom, specially, liked to blend in because he knew he was different. He was aware that most people didn't think like him. Normal people felt guilt.

"Yes, yes, so they say. But we can talk about them some other time, what I wish to talk is the gala tonight. I don't know what you said to convince Minister Nott, but I assure you, you and your family are in grave danger tonight," Dumbledore said solemnly. "The fate of this war can be changed tonight. Surely, you must be amenable to this. Hundreds of lives can be saved tonight if the right people are imprisoned and held accountable for their atrocious acts."

"If it as simple as that, Mr Dumbledore, another opportunity will rise to apprehend the guilty," Charles appeased.

"Mr Winter, I realize Germany is your homeland but you must realize their acts are deplorable-"

"Mr Dumbledore," Charles interrupted sharply. "Please leave."

"When they come here, because they will, and invade England what do you think will happen to your family? You are not exactly purebloods."

"Worry about your own family, I will worry about mine."

They had a stare standoff. With a sharp nod, Dumbledore left without another word.

After everyone had left and only the two of them were left in the empty, silent library, Malfoy spoke up.

"After all this years and I still feel like I have a lot to learn from you," Hyperion said. "You truly are worthy of a Malfoy calling you Master."

"Thank you. Thank you, please, feel free to once again pay me millions."

"I'm not _that_ awed," Hyperion backpedalled.

"Pity."

"How could you have possibly known about all of that?" Hyperion asked, referring to all the dirt he had on the minister.

"Spies, my friend. Spies everywhere."

"As fun as this has been, I have to get back to my wife. If my dress robes are not perfectly tailored for tonight she'll finally ask me for that divorce."

Charles snorted. "You wish."

"Yes. She stops my heart and fills it with hope every time she mentions divorce. But we all know she has never kept a promise in her life," Hyperion said with a sad shake of his head, getting up and heading to the fire. "I'll see you tonight."

"Sadly."

Charles walked to his room in a tired daze. Contrary to popular belief, extortion and intimidation were a tiring affair. That coupled with the early morning and long morning of chores making sure the house was as protected as humanly possible had him wishing for the night to be over. He walked the last curve only to stop and see a fully grown tiger with what looked suspiciously like _his belt_ around his neck pass by the connecting hallway, followed moments late by a breathless Abigael and a red faced Penelope.

"You are tired and seeing things," Abigael said with a panicked/pleading look as she stopped from her mad chase.

"I am tired and seeing things," Charles replied, because if what he saw was an actual tiger in his house, he'd have to take care of it. But if he pretended he hadn't seen it, another could grow grey hairs for him.

"Love you!" Abigael yelled with a wave as she took off running again after the tiger, Penelope close at her heals.

"Don't get eaten!"

He was not even going to think about how a tiger got into his house. Or what might Tom been doing that he has been strangely absent. No. He was just going to take a relaxing bath…

He opened the door to his room only to be shoved fabrics in his face.

"What colour do you think best matches my complexion?"

Charles groaned, closed the door and his eyes, hoping he was also imagining an annoying vampire in his room.

"If I answer will you leave?"

"Yes." Charles knew it was a lie, but he hoped, oh, how he hoped, that this time he might mean it.

"The left one."

"What! You didn't even see how it looks on me. I've brought several candidates, but I just can't decide!"

Charles looked around his room. Every surface was covered by clothes. To the best of his ability, Charles ignored the vampire and prepared his bath.

"You look hot older, shame it's only temporary," Leviathan sighed as he followed him to the bathroom and to Charles' embarrassment kept talking. "You have the sexiest lips I've ever seen. Too bad you are such a harpy," he lamented.

Charles submerged his head underwater and hoped he died of asphyxiation.

* * *

><p>New Year's resolution: Finish this story!<p>

Sorry for the long wait :( I'll try to go back to a chapter per week

Please review!


	43. Chapter 43: The Start

Chapter 43: The Start

In a perfect, ideal world, a place where Unicorns were not bothersome pests and Dragons were friendly creatures, wizards would arrive on time to the gala, if not a little early, and be ready to leave by ten o'clock after spending four to five hours of synchronized dancing and dull conversation. In this perfect world, Goblins would start arriving by this point and maybe cross paths with some wizards, but that would fit in the plan because, at the moment, Wizards and Goblins were at peace.

The Werewolves would arrive later on, only distinguishable by their gold iris but otherwise blending in with the few wizards stubbornly refusing to leave. Last, the Vampires would arrive, as always, extremely late, or not at all, to a Wizard event, never actually crossing paths with wizards and arrogantly keeping to themselves while contemplating their superiority. And while in this perfect, ideal world the party would still be a bore, complicated and freakishly long, it was a peaceful and manageable affair.

So, of course, the exact opposite happened.

Vampires and Goblins were the first to arrive, almost killing each other to be the first to enter through the front door. And they did not just arrive early; they arrived two full hours before the event was scheduled to start.

A wet-haired, now twelve-year-old Charles greeted them at the door with a scowl. His scowl got progressively worse as they kept pouring in like some sort of plague from hell. Small, green demons with nasty, unsociable personalities and tall, white corpses with nothing productive to offer to this world.

So maybe he was being a tad harsh and theatrical, but he was tired, stressed and worried, never a good combination on him. He had been dragged from his bath and rushed through the preparations. His tie wasn't properly done and his shirt wasn't properly tucked but he hadn't planned on getting ready _two hours_ before the event.

Goblins were dressed in full combat clothes made of different combinations of gold, silver and steel embedded with jewels. Their belts had 'ornamental' weapons, everything from the traditional sword to battle-axes. The colours and decorations of their formal dress depended on the region they lived, the clan they were part of, the traditions they maintained and the position they had in the clan.

The North clan, the clan that held Gringotts at Diagon Alley and because of this, the one Charles' knew best, had mostly red and gold armour with fire designs and their leader had two swords, one on each side and a battle-axe on his back while Goblins of the same clan but lower rank had only one sword. Other clans had different combinations of metals and at least one colour that defined the entire clan.

Vampires were more varied and their clothes more fashionable than traditional. Every era, culture, style and fashion was mixed to create the circus-like effect Charles associated with a Vampire gathering.

Charles noticed the moment Seraphim entered his house. Hell, he felt Seraphim the moment the vampire crossed the gates. The vampire was just _that_ powerful. Others stood out too: Alphas with their nature-attuned magic that felt like the cold breeze before the rain, the Goblin Leaders with magic that resounded like the rapid beat of a drum and somewhere under all that noise was the darkness that was all Tom and the rapid hum that was Penelope and even farther in, the vibrations from the wards.

No wizard had arrived, but it was still two hours before the scheduled time.

The four-hour commute from the gates to the front door had been shortened to twenty minutes by an invitation-activated portkey at the front gates. For security reasons, the portkey did not let the guests inside the house but provided carriage services for the remaining twenty-minute trip.

Through the window, Charles could see groups that had forgone the portkey ride in order to poke and prod the wards. The wards were powerful enough that they created a bubble-like effect with visible light. They gave the impression of being inside a huge dome.

When Seraphim entered the room there was a sudden shift as everyone moved in relation to his power. Like a physical wave, some stepped forward and some stepped back to account for the change. With difficulty, Charles stayed where he was. He breathed deeply and centered himself. If he ever had to fight Seraphim, he, unashamedly, will run.

As more of the more powerful magical leaders of the world gathered in the same room the more difficult it became for the rest to stay unaffected and everyone started shifting in place, edgy, uncomfortable and suffocated. Before paranoia and hysteria settled in, Charles directed them to a larger receiving room with food and drinks.

As always, Charles' magic was carefully hidden. Only someone close enough to touch him would feel his magic rushing millimetres from his skin, protecting him from being affected from all the external magic. The other leaders, in sharp contrast, were shamelessly flaunting their magic.

An important part of a leader was to recognize a threat and for that they needed to unleash their magic. It helped the leader survive, and perhaps more importantly, it helped the group survive.

Charles thought this might make him look weak in the eyes of those who had never met him and that they might not respect him as much, but he was prepared to deal with that if it ever became a problem. Right now he preferred to do what was confortable to him, what he was used to, and that was hiding. It had served him well thus far.

Not that he _could_ hide right now. At least, not physically. All eyes were on him.

To the others Charles did not have to make a large show of power; the mere fact that he greeted all the leaders without being affected by their lure spoke volumes of hidden power.

Charles Winter's greetings were casual, almost uncaring and certainty relaxed. Like he didn't care he was in front of royalty or that this was the most honour any magical ruler had ever bestowed on a wizard. This was, as far as everyone was concerned, history in the making.

Eager eyes watched the response of their leaders; certain that _their_ leader would not accept such disrespect and were equally surprised, and terribly disappointed, at their leader's unsurprised, resigned and almost friendly acceptance of the lack of decorum, deference and respect the boy showed.

Of course they knew the larger than life stories behind the name, heard all the myths and had been warned by the few that knew him not to be fooled by his appearance. But it was one thing to hear the tall tales of a boy conquering the world to actually see said boy and notice how _small_ he was, how fragile he looked and his overall non-threatening image. It was hard to believe they had any sort of truth to them. _But_ the reputation that followed the boy like a blanket prevented the more audacious from voicing their incredulity. For now.

Just as Charles was greeting the last of his guests, (at least the last he considered worth personally greeting), his mother entered the room, a little less put together than usual, but beautiful with a long white gown with long sleeves and her curly hair tied in a soft up-do. She surveyed the room with military precision that spoke of experience with daily disasters.

Her voice was a whisper amongst the noise, yet she was heard, and when she announced who she was, obeyed. Immediately. In moments she had organized the scattered masses of bodies and directed them to the main ballroom.

In their mind, if she was anything like her son, she could hide her power and pretend to be a harmless squib while secretly harnessing unknown, undetectable powers.

Charles allowed her to take charge and stood to the side, already bored with the proceedings. He opened and closed his pocket watch repeatedly. Those who knew that this boy had been unfazed by previous highly stressful situations noted the nervous gesture.

"A tour of the house?" Charles heard his mother say, her melodious voice rising through the sudden hush. He saw her eyes move through the crowd and find him like a bird of prey finds a rat from ten meters up in the air.

"Charles," Charles mentally swore. "Please, take our guests on a tour of the house." The look she sent him was one that broke no argument and promised _consequences_ if were he to disagree.

Without much choice, Charles nodded.

"Come here for a moment," she beckoned and Charles dutifully moved to her side and stood while she brushed his hair, did his tie and fixed his shirt. "There now. You look handsome," she smiled. He smiled back, or least he showed his teeth and stretched the sides of his mouth.

He waited until his mother left through the door before undoing his tie and hiding it inside a vase for good measure. The bloody thing cut his circulation and he had enough choking experiences to be uncomfortable with things around his neck.

Everyone stared at him. Their eyes still trying to connect the cold, ruthless killer and mastermind with the domestic moment they had just witnessed. Charles shrugged it off. He wasn't going to shun his mother or act coldly towards her for their sake.

"Only fifteen," Charles said to the room after a moment. He wasn't taking a group of a hundred through a tour of his home.

When all was said and done, seventeen followed Charles since the leaders of South and East Goblin clans could not be left out without war breaking out. And his mother would be… _upset…_ if he started a war tonight.

Walking as fast as his short legs could carry him, Charles gave the most mediocre tour in history.

"Closet. Red guest room. Closet. Blue guest room. Music room. Junk and other random stuff that don't fit anywhere else room. Bathroom. Closet. I guess we are all done here. Nothing else to see I'm afraid. I'm hungry. Let's go eat."

"Not so fast Mr Winter. We have the plans for this house, we know for a fact that there are two more floors," Blade, a particularly hateful goblin who was also the East Goblin leader, said with a sneer. The North Goblin clan sold him the house; it was not surprising to hear they kept the house plans. It was annoying that they shared it, but not unexpected.

"Well since you know everything, this is quite pointless and we can go eat."

Quick healed steps rounded the corner and everyone turned to look who was approaching.

"Master Winter, your vampire." Marianne was escorting a sheepish-looking Leviathan and looking a step away from bodily violence.

"_My_ vampire? Certainly not."

"Please tell him to stay out of Mistress' things," Marianne said, looking sternly at Leviathan. She did a quick, half-assed curtsy and turned to Charles, "Is the tiger yours?" she demanded.

"No," Charles was quick to deny.

She looked at him for a few seconds and then nodded. "One day that sister of yours is going to kill us all," she said as she turned away to leave. A strong, leather leash in her hands and a determined look to her.

"What _were_ you doing in my mother's things?" Charles asked Leviathan.

Leviathan shrugged and did not answer. Charles did not push for an answer. It was one of those things he could die without ever knowing.

"Leviathan," Seraphim greeted coldly. Tendrils of his magic wrapping around Leviathan in what had to be a panic-inducing embrace. Leviathan visibly shrunk. "What are you doing _here_?"

"Spying," Leviathan said in a small voice. "And you know, doing spy things."

There was rumble of chuckles and derisive laughter. Charles looked at Leviathan imploringly. _Please shut up before you get killed_, he mentally begged_._ Seraphim's magic left Leviathan but not before leaving him mentally and magically weak.

"Well you have the secrecy part down to an art," Blade said and everyone laughed.

Saturated with the derision he felt from the others and unable to block it, he felt the entirety of their ridicule. Leviathan blushed slightly and his hands fisted in anger but he empowered himself with Charles' positive feelings of support.

Sadly, the combination only made him talk before thinking. "But **I** know this house _and_ **I** have permission to come and go as I please. Much more than you can brag about." Leviathan smiled smugly at all the goblins, conveniently not looking at Seraphim and from behind Charles' protection.

The East and West Goblin's looked at each other with a crafty twinkle in their eyes. "Prove it," they challenged.

"What?"

"Prove that you know this place."

Before Charles could open his mouth, Leviathan yelled, "I will."

Charles exhaled slowly, deeply aggravated. Leviathan felt his annoyance like a cold slap on the face. He deflated and suddenly looked sheepish.

Charles made a waving motion, still annoyed, but giving Leviathan permission to continue.

Truth was, there was no deep, dark secret hidden in the house. No incriminating evidence, or plan, or book of secrets that, if discovered, would be detrimental for him. It would have been dangerous and foolish to keep something important in the house. His house received guests every day, his family lived here and he was absent for most of the year. The only secret that he couldn't afford to be known only existed in the recess of his mind.

The Goblins had the construction plans of the house, knew every corner and secret passage. Everyone in here was sworn to, not only to not attack his family, but actively try to protect them if it was in their power to do so. So it was neither his secrets nor his safety he wanted to protect but his space and privacy.

Leviathan took over the tour, silently asking permission before he opened a door, which slightly made up for his blunder. He said no to the art room. That was a bit too personal to share and his stick drawings were nothing to brag about. But after a few moments of indecision, he admitted them entrance to his workroom.

His workroom was a magically enlarged room with more junk than it could hold. Even with magic, it was a tight fit. Broken clocks, radios, half-finished projects and other odds and ends rested on tables like broken toys in the back of the room. The walls were covered with construction plans, messily written ideas, doodles and spots of paint. Some of his more…_explosive_ experiments were under wards and glass cases.

In the centre, on top of a working bench was his and Tom's latest creation, which someone had left activated.

"What is this?"

"Utopia," Charles responded, "At least, my version of Utopia," he corrected.

The project that had started as a punishment mutated into something else. Something bigger. Something impossible and unreachable. But oh so beautiful to imagine.

He smiled. He had a few fights with Tom over this because Tom had wanted statues of himself in all four points of the island and the monetary system to have his face. So maybe this wasn't _Tom's_ version of Utopia.

_Where's Tom anyway?_ He wondered with longing.

The rulers of the Magical World assembled around the table, watching the three-dimensional representation of the island he and Tom had created and his father had edited, complete with miniature dragons flying around, unicorns grazing and a large assortment of magical species co-existing in a self-sustained paradise.

"Does this place exist?" Seraphim asked sharply, looking at Charles fiercely.

"Only in my imagination."

Charles started playing with the panels, showing them all the different layers, ecosystems and wards that protected this imaginary place.

"You are naïve if you think this is possible," the East Goblin leader sneered.

"It is only a project of the mind," Charles agreed. "A place were magic and magical beings can freely exist in peace. A dream and nothing more."

"Maybe it can exist someday," Leviathan said.

Charles smiled slightly. Leviathan was forever a dreamer and an optimist. At the incredulous looks he was receiving, Leviathan defended, "Well, we are all here tonight, in the a wizard's home. Three years ago it was inconceivable to imagine wizards, goblins, vampires and werewolves under one roof and in peace."

"Do you know how to create portals?" Harraf, the goblin leader of the North and Charles employer, asked sharply.

Charles nodded. He had figured it out long ago and it was the principal method of transportation used in the model. Modern history has them as almost mythological objects that have been lost to history. Harraf and everyone else looked at him intently, as if trying to dissect him with their eyes. Charles coughed uncomfortably. Harraf was the first one to look away and down at the model.

"A magical market is what you are proposing here? Like Diagon Alley?" Harraf asked.

"A free, unregulated magical market outside the restricting and biased rules the ministry imposes." Charles shrugged the looks he was receiving. "I get annoyed when I don't find the correct brand of fairy honey for my tea because the ministry deems it contraband material."

Charles gave a brief explication on the highlights of the island, breezing through it and not giving much detail. The idea was simple: a place where all magical beings could co-exist in peace. The execution, on the other hand, was complicated, even in theory. With a complex system of wards, portals and multifaceted construction that blended seamlessly to reach the ideal comfort requirements for each species. The island was a magical place in and out of itself. Every corner was carefully planned and placed with purpose.

Realistically, he alone did not have the money, power or time to do it. But the seventeen leaders that created a rough circle around the table in his dingy workroom did have the money, the power and the time to do it. They could persuade their people into accepting and backing the idea.

All in all, the explanation lasted less than fifteen minutes. Charles' tone and blasé attitude gave the impression the project had been just a way to pass the time and now that it was finished it will only serve as a pretty light house to place in a corner and eventually forget.

As planned, Seraphim's attention landed on Charles' collection of grimoires, 'carelessly' left on top of a nearby table and buried under half-finished notes. The others quickly picked up on Seraphim's shift of attention and approached the table.

When Seraphim made to pick it up Charles clicked his tongue in disapproval and shook his head.

"That would be…unadvisable."

Charles walked forward and without prompting explained. "My old collection of grimoires. They're full now. The new ones are stored elsewhere."

Filling a grimoire usually took generations of witches and wizards adding to it because of their innate properties of expansion. For Charles to have surpassed the limits of the expansion of not just one but various was unheard of. The thing that really got their attention was that out of the six grimoires, one was titled: 'GOBLINS' and another 'VAMPIRES'.

And the half-finished notes had tantalizing sentences that were left unfinished or the words were so jumbled they were only readable to the author. '_With enough… a vampire could survive decades without blood and not suffer any permanent damage…' _

'_-creates an unlimited supply of raw materials'_

'…_could potentially destroy the economy.'_

'_Potentially cure the werewolves of their silver affliction…'_

'_after a b.m. transplant a vampire's diet might change to…'_

"What would you know about goblins?" Blade asked derisively.

"Of course I wouldn't presume to know anything." Charles lightly chuckled. "Ignore my presumption. They are just the ramblings of a child. Certainly nothing that would compare with a goblin's knowledge."

Someone snorted in disbelief.

"You are too humble, Charles," Seraphim purred. Charles wished, not for the first time, to take a step away from the vampire king. Australia would not be far enough where Seraphim was concerned.

Blade now looked at him untrustingly, his previous solid conviction fading.

Charles' eyes gained a far-away look as he momentarily pretended to forget he had company. "Imagine what the Magical world could be," he whispered to an entrapped audience, "if we could freely share information, ideas and breakthroughs. The things we could accomplish. What greatness are we capable, I wonder, when we stop fighting each other and start fighting _for_ each other."

Charles clapped, jolting a few. "I have bored you enough with my fantasies. Let's get out of this dingy place and finish with the tour. I'm hungry."

With one last look around the place, everyone evacuated. Charles turned off the lights and closed the door.

The subject was not broached again for the rest of the tour. In fact, it would not be mentioned again in years. But the bad seed was there, festering and growing like the fungus it was until one day, maybe five years in the future, maybe ten, the idea will explode.

And Charles will be there, in the center of the storm, watching as the mutated fungus of an idea destroys everything in its path and then pulls it back together savagely and unrepentantly; worse than any war in history.

No true change of reality came without first destroying the previous reality.

That's how empires are created.

One person cannot create an empire. But one _idea_ can create a world. Or destroy it. If whispered to the right ears.

Not shouted, or pushed, or enforced. Whispered. Quietly and softly. Lovingly.

The model had been the idea, the grimoires (_information, power, greatness_) the bait.

Better than anyone, Charles knew what it took. Create the right environment. Plant the seed. Wait patiently.

He was twelve. He could afford to wait decades and repeat the process as many times as it took.

-0-

Three hours later the party was at full swing. The ballroom that hosted the activity had a complex charm that permitted it to unnoticeably enlarge to accommodate the number of guests so it was never uncomfortably crowded. The room was majestic and elegant yet still managing to come off as welcoming.

The music was painfully and boringly neutral but the hum of flowing conversation and laughter made up for it. As it was still early, there was no dancing, only groups of people sitting, talking and moving around the circular tables that doted the room. There were no less than fifteen buffet-like tables of food that catered to the diversity in the room and a horde of waiters moving with drinks.

"Stop brooding in a corner," his mother chided. "I know you are mad with me but you cannot ignore your guests for the duration of the night."

"I can and I will. You're my mother, you shouldn't doubt me."

"Don't worry, sweetheart. I have never doubted your endless capacity for petulance and bullheadedness."

Charles gave her a peeved look before going back to staring out the window.

"Have you talked with Tom?"

"Did he tell you?" Charles asked sharply. _If Tom had said anything, he was going to kill him. _

"He didn't have to tell me anything. The trail of blood that has followed him all day was enough of a clue that you two fought."

"I'm not saying sorry. He's the one at fault."

Annabelle sighed but did not push the matter. She wasn't even curious about what they fought about. She was more wary when they did get along.

"Did you eat?"

"No."

"Then go eat."

"I don't want to."

"Do it anyway."

Charles huffed but at seeing his mother's tired frame, relented.

He picked up a plate and filled it with random things until it was full. He took the plate outside and sat with it in a balcony rail overlooking the grounds. It did not take him long to hear muffled crying.

"Leviathan?" he asked suspiciously. The gardens were artfully decorated with fairy lights but it was still too dark to make up the form.

The vampire flew the two stories of distance between them so fast he was only a blur.

"Oh, Charles you came! You're such a good friend. It was so horrible! He's with that wench and did not even say anything about my robe!" Leviathan broke down in wretched sobs.

Charles did not correct the assumption he had come looking for the vampire and only limited himself to hearing the story and making appropriate sympathetic sounds when they were called for while picking the food of his plate.

Before he knew it, he relaxed under the normal chatter. But entering the room, with a now composed Leviathan, brought all of his anxiety back. Unconsciously, he looked for Tom.

He sighed in relief when found him in a corner by himself.

"Who's the vampire?" Tom immediately asked.

"Leviathan?" Charles asked, perplexed. Leviathan had left him on the balcony doors to brave once again his love.

"The Empath."

"You can tell he's an Empath?" Charles asked with surprise. _Why the bloody hell he couldn't tell Leviathan was an Empath at first glance like Tom just did? _Charles mentally complained.

"Who is he?" Tom pressed, reminding Charles of the possessive wizard he had at his side that felt threatened by another.

"Oh, you remember when I got kidnapped by vampires? Well, he helped me get out." Not really but it could be interpreted that way.

"When you _what_?" Tom demanded, his face furious.

"Don't you remember? That time, years ago, when I came early morning covered in blood."

"You were telling the truth?"

"Yes," Charles said testily. "I do tell the truth, Tom. That you decide not to believe me is another thing," he looked pointedly at Tom.

"So you were in Diagon Alley?" Tom asked uncertainly. Scepticism clearly on his face.

"I _told_ you what happened," Charles said angrily. "I'm not going to fight about this again." He made to leave but Tom grabbed his arm before he could move away, as Charles knew he would.

"Fine," Tom huffed. "I believe you."

"And?" Charles pushed.

Tom rolled his eyes but complied. "And I'm sorry for doubting you." It was a well-rehearsed line.

"Thank you. That's all I wanted. You really should have more faith in me. I would _never_ lie to you."

Tom snorted. "Of course you wouldn't," he said with heavy sarcasm.

"Tom tommy Tom-Tom," Charles put his arm around Tom's shoulders as he chanted. Tom glared at the hated nickname without much fire. "You are my brother. As dear to me as key lime pie-"

"That is actually your_ second_ favourite dessert," Tom interrupted with a glare, but there was a playful air.

"Don't be greedy now. As I was saying before I was _rudely_ interrupted. You are dear and near to my heart. I would _never_ lie to you." Charles looked at Tom in the eyes. "Never," he repeated solemnly.

Tom stayed serious for a moment before throwing his head back and laughing loudly, gaining the attention of a few nearby guests. "Who are you trying to fool, _Little Charlie_?" Charles lightly scowled.

"You are so cute when you pretend not to be evil," Tom said, a smile on his lips. "Seriously, Charles, you make my ancestor look like an amateur. At least Salazar Slytherin was honest about his hate and straightforward enough to actually say it. You, on other hand, would have actually managed to ban muggleborns and be hailed a hero for it." Tom looked thoughtful. "No, you would have made_ someone else_ ban muggleborns, continue to look innocent and wide-eyed and still somehow manage to be called hero. You, my dear brother, are a master manipulator and a deceit artist. The perfect Slytherin. It is why I love you so."

Charles conveniently ignored everything Tom said but pounced on the last sentence with a victorious grin. "So you _do_ love me?"

"We have our moments," Tom dismissed.

"What are you talking about?" Abraxas asked as he approached them.

While Charles had a simple black formal robe made from the finest material and Tom had a dark green one, Abraxas was dressed in a pale grey satin robe.

"How much Tom loves me. I would marry him if only he knew how to cook."

"You told me you liked my cooking," Tom objected with a scowl.

"Delusional as well," Charles mocked whispered.

"You two are so weird."

"Your father is beckoning, Brax," Charles told him.

"I swear I've been introduced to so many people tonight my hand will continue to shake for months."

"Yes, well. You should not keep your father waiting." Tom said and when Abraxas did not move, "Don't worry about us. We'll be fine without you." When Abraxas still did not move, Tom almost shoved him. With a laugh, Abraxas left to fight through the crowd to reach his father.

Charles tsk'ed. "Be nice, Tom." Charles' eyes widened. "Oh hell, here comes Slughorn. Quick, hide me."

Tom's arm moved in a blur and snaked around Charles' waist and dragged him back to his side.

"If I have to deal with the dumb fool _you_ invited then sure as hell you are going to suffer with me."

"Tom let go of me!" Charles begged while discreetly shooting looks at the fast approaching professor.

"Oh look, he found us," Tom said with evil glee.

"I thought you loved me?" Charles said with his best kicked puppy look, big, tearful eyes and pitiful pout.

"It comes and goes."

Slughorn had stuffed himself in an obnoxious lime green a robe a size too small. The robes were obviously not his. They were of a higher calibre than anything Charles had seen the professor wear but way past their magical stretching limits.

"Professor, so nice you could make it," Tom said, forever the teacher's pet.

Slughorn narrowed his eyes for a second at their open display of intimacy but his frown quickly smoothed and he continued as if nothing. "Ah, my two favourite students. I was very pleased for the personal invitation." Displays of affection of any kind were not accepted in Slytherin. It was an unspoken rule.

Tom did not relinquish his hold on Charles throughout the conversation, knowing it was the only thing that kept Charles in place. Charles coldly glanced at the restricting hand from time to time but overall kept the image of dutiful and respectful student. Slughorn was a useful asset. Charles had invited him to repay the debt of all of his frequent absence do to 'sickness'.

For two students that redefined the term Slytherin and took it to new heights it was no hardship leaving Slughorn behind. Tom was not above using Imperio as a method of solution if Slughorn insisted on seeking them out later on and Charles…well, Charles could look the other way just this once since it was for a noble, perfectly reasonable and justifiable reason.

It was fortunate they had a good, supporting family that tried to teach them good values, integrity and honour. Their morality was flexible at best. Usually questionable. And non-existent if pushed.

Charles found his sisters on a table and sat with them, dragging Tom with him.

"What happened to the tiger?" Charles asked in lieu of greeting.

"Snakie killed it," Penelope said mournfully, her party dress moving in time with her swinging legs. Despite Tom's loud (and obnoxious) protests, the snake was referred as Snakie instead of Queen of Darkness. In part because it was the only name the snake responded to, but largely to annoy Tom. They were family, it was their mission in life to annoy the hell out of each other.

"She has been trying to eat the 'fat overgrown rat' for the last three hours," Tom supplied with a mild glare for to Penelope

"How did a tiger manage to get in the house?" Charles asked, looking at Abigael pointedly.

Abigael looked like a gazelle caught. "Penny did it," she quickly blurted, easily shuffling the blame to someone else.

"_Abby!_ You promised!" Penny hissed.

An hour later, Abby was talking to Isaac on a balcony and Penny had been sent to bed. Two hours later, Charles and Tom had moved to the room next to the ballroom and played a silent game of chess. Charles eyes' strayed to the clock every few minutes.

Nine o'clock.

Nine thirty.

Ten.

Ten thirty.

At eleven Tom went to bed. Charles promised to follow in a few minutes.

At twelve he was still standing by the same window.

At one o'clock the raucous laughter and the clinking of glasses could be heard through the thick walls. Sometime between one and two in the morning the door opened and closed. Charles did not look back to see who entered, did not care as long as they did not interrupt the silence.

When he finally looked back he was met with twenty sets of eyes. He met Leviathan's eyes. The vampire looked uncharacteristically serious, solemn and worried. A reflection of what Charles was feeling. He then met Seraphim's eyes. The Vampire Kind held his gaze without giving away what he was thinking. He sat in an armchair like it was a throne and his eyes never strayed from Charles.

Charles' eyes travelled through the very familiar crowd. The few times a crisis had emerged in the magical world that affected everyone, this was the core group that decided on a course of action.

Charles was somehow not surprised with their presence.

"It is better if you leave and take your people with you. It is not safe to be here tonight," Charles finally said.

"What will happen tonight?"

Charles looked back at the clock. Two thirteen.

"Leave," Charles repeated. His face was devoid of colour and expression. His back and neck tense.

Charles was past pretending, past being able to keep up the charade. At six in the morning the wards will change to their normal non-permissive state. For one whole minute the estate will be unprotected while the change happened.

"I am not going anywhere, Mr Winter, until you tell me what exactly is happening here tonight," Harraf demanded. The goblin sat in a couch, surrounded by the other clan leaders. They nodded in support.

Charles turned back to the window.

"He's not going to tell us," Blade bellowed in anger.

"What can you expect from someone that neither Heaven nor Hell wanted him? He's stuck in an endless loop. He's own personal purgatory." Charles turned to see who had spoken. A very old werewolf was standing on the corner with a sneer on his face. Charles did not recognize him.

"I don't who you are, but for the record, I don't believe in heaven or hell," Charles responded. He did believe in a spiritual plane, just not the afterlife mayor religions preached that was based on the life you lived.

"Of course you don't, you've never seen it," the old man sneered. His wrinkles covered his entire face and his eyes were white with sickness yet they focused on Charles with intensity.

"How would you know?" Charles whispered, his face politely curious while his heartbeat increased.

"Werewolves may not have fancy libraries but we keep history alive by word of mouth. History is full with the likes of you: souls that are not welcome in the afterlife. Too evil for Heaven, too good for Hell."

"I would say I am the right kind of evil," Charles responded with a smile.

The man snorted. "Of course you would."

"So what is he?" Seraphim asked.

"An Immortal," the man responded. He sneered at the vampire. "But not your kind of bogus immortality, but a true Immortal: one that dies and is reborn in every cycle."

"Interesting myths," Charles dismissed with forced casualness. He'd eat his hand before confirming it in front of this crowd. He'll just ask Isaac later, he must know the stories and if they were worth sharing Isaac would have said something earlier. He hoped.

Isaac entered the door, catching the end of the conversation. "Grampa stop telling bed time stories."

"You dismiss too easily our past, that's why you will never have any future in the clan," the man spat to his grandchild.

Isaac dismissed the familiar accusation and walked forward to Charles. Conscious of the ears in the room, Isaac kept it vague. "I hope, old friend, you are not thinking of doing anything foolish."

Charles kept silent. His mouth set in a stubborn fine line.

"You cannot tell them!" Isaac said in a language that still hasn't been invented.

"We are alone. We already lost once. Tell me one good reason not to ask for help!" Charles almost shouted in the same tongue. He breathed deeply and responded more calmly. "We will lose again, Isaac. If you have some brilliant plan, or any plan at all, share it. If not history is doomed to repeat itself and I fear there's not going to be a magical second chance to save us this time." Charles eyes' pierced Isaac, hopeful and pleading and at the same time defying.

"If you sound a war alarm and nothing happens, you will look foolish," Isaac whispered sharply.

Charles felt disappointment as he had never felt it before. For a second, he had allowed himself to hope for another way, for a solution and for Isaac to step up and take charge. But Isaac had offered no solution and had taken the coward's way out. Placing the entire blame on his shoulders. In other words, the leadership.

His smiled was bitter.

"Let us hope then, old friend, that I am made a fool."

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><p>Chapter dedicated to WolftheFosaken for messaging me to remind me of my promise to update more! Reminders, pressure, messages, reviews do help me get my butt in front of the computer and write. Don't stress about what to write. I am not a very good reviewer myself and tend to write very short reviews with unoriginal material but I know from my experience with you guys that no matter how small, a bit of praise or constructive criticism helps.<p>

Sorry for the slow update but I had start of the semester problems with classes. (I almost did not find the classes I needed to graduate) And this chapter was haaard to write. I'll stay online for a while so if you find mistakes, inconsistencies or anything you wish to point out that I can correct.


	44. Chapter 44: Six o'clock

Chapter 44: Six o'clock

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><p>"Pain is important: how we evade it, how we succumb to it, how we deal with it, how we transcend it."~ Audre Lorde<p>

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><p>"<em>Let us hope then, old friend, that I am made a fool."<em>

Charles turned back to the silent crowd. Isaac took a step back and he was left alone in the center of the room. Charles let a small tentacle of his magic escape momentarily. Controlled and directed, the magic spoke of languages. As soon as it took form, the magic disappeared without leaving a trace of its existence. Charles hoped his ploy wasn't _too_ obvious and that the gathered group individually reached the conclusion that the unknown language was not Isaac being special, but Charles doing something to keep the conversation private.

For better or worse, he was walking this road alone. Isaac had made that clear.

Truly, he didn't even have the heart to resent Isaac. He only envied him and everyone else that escaped from being in his shoes. If he could have shoved this to someone else and cleaned his hands from the matter he sure as hell would done so. Gleefully. Without any guilt or remorse. He wouldn't even care if said unlucky person was successful or not, just immensely grateful that he was not responsible for coming up with some brilliant master plan, carry it out successfully, singlehandedly of course, while still, somehow, maintaining secrecy.

Sadly, there was no one else he could drop this on and run.

Hard choices had to be made and someone had to make them and, if everything went south, accept the blame. It was just bad fortune that that someone had to be him.

Perverted, almost.

And completely unmerited.

Charles took stock of who was in the room and who needed to leave. At least six needed to leave, including Isaac's grandfather.

The mismatched group of vampires, werewolves and goblins had been waiting in almost complete silence for the last hour. It was the longest this group of people have lasted in silence while together. (The record being less than a minute last April and it had just been a shocked, angry silence when he announced that he was not coming back to another meeting if they couldn't be bothered to have the right brand of donuts.) It was just his luck that the usually impatient, demanding, _loud_ group were patiently waiting for him to talk. Even going as far as waiting for longer than an hour.

He would have preferred it if they had stormed off the room in a fit of righteous anger for being ignored, because at least that would have been normal. It was as if they somehow knew, or inferred, that this was important enough to wait.

There was a seriousness in the air, a heaviness that permeated the entire room and made a whisper sound too loud.

The door opened quietly and his parents stepped in. Charles met their supportive stares as they took position in the left corner of the room. His mother offered him a quiet smile that did not quite hide how tired she was. Or how scared. But she was here. And that was all Charles could ask for. Charles took strength in their presence to finally open his mouth and speak.

His heart raced and he hid his hands behind his back to hide their trembling, but when he spoke his voice was clear and strong.

"I expect an attack tonight," he said quietly, with a confidence he did not have.

He was going on a limb and assume they were going to attack. Two things could happen. One they don't attack and he losses political power and trust. Two they attack and he's well prepared. Losing face was not as bad as losing limb or life so he was going with that road.

Charles waited until the commotion died down to speak again. He did not raise his voice, thus forcing those who were still talking to shut up to be able to hear him. "Leave if you do not want to be caught in the middle."

_Always give them the option to leave first. _

Immediately, some stood and left without preamble. Eight left, including the six he hadn't wanted in the first place and two that surprised him.

They could all feel his fear and in turn it made them fear. Who, or what, could scare this boy? Until tonight they had thought the answer was nothing.

"Who is going to attack?" Harraf finally asked what everyone was thinking.

"How dare you deliberately put us in danger?" An Elder demanded at the same time. Seraphim raised a hand. When the Elder closed his mouth, Seraphim turned back to Charles with politely attentive eyes.

But it was too late and the damage was done. Similar expressions were being uttered. Charles raised his hands in a placating gesture. It had the opposite effect. They had crossed their limit of patience and wanted answers.

"You expect us to die for your war?" was the loudest claim of all.

"My war?" Charles asked softly, dangerously. His eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly behind his glasses. The room immediately quietened. Charles turned a little and faced the window, unwilling to test what he was capable of doing to the one that had spoken.

Unexpectedly he laughed and turned back to the speaker with a smile. "I envy your ignorance. I truly do. And out of spite, I'm going to take it away. This is not _my_ war or _my_ enemy but _our_ war, _our_ enemy. Whether you know it or not, this is everyone's war. Earth has become the battlefield and our survival, the survival of every living thing in the Universe, will depend on the outcome of this war. Our fate rests on what we do today and what happens tomorrow. _So don't tell me this is my war_."

Charles breathed deeply and regained his anger.

"Nevertheless, I will not endanger all the work we have done to reach this point. Peace amongst us is important. I will not ask nor expect any of you to join this war if you do not wish to join. However, if you do wish to stay, I will fully explain the situation. But if you do not plan to get involved, it is better, _safer,_ if you do not know. That way you can live your life in blessed ignorance."

Charles let a moment for his words to sink in.

"Discuss it among your people. I will end the party in half an hour. Make your decision before then."

The room exploded in noise and demands. Charles simply walked out of the room after his parents and closed the door. He made his choice, for better or worse, it was now out of his hands and no longer a secret. Had it ever been important to keep the secret? In the grand scheme of things, did it matter? For what use were two clueless boys with no plan or idea?

He had tried. He really had. But what else could he do? He was only one person…

His mother engulfed him in a hug the moment they were out.

"You are a very brave boy."

"Does it still count if all I want to do is hide under my bed?" Charles asked quietly to her shoulder.

"Yes, yes it does. Very brave. And you will not be alone. We will be here with you."

"Rest for a few hours. I'll get you when its time," Charles told her, escaping the embrace but not before shamelessly basking in it.

"I have to prepare the girls and evacuate everyone," she told him.

Charles nodded, knowing better than to fight her about it. He received a pat from his father and they parted ways, his father slightly dragging his mother away.

-0-

Charles entered the ballroom. He expected to find it almost empty; it was almost three in the morning after all. But instead he found it just as packed as when he had left it hours ago.

The double doors closed quietly behind him and he walked unnoticed. The sound of laughter and clinking glasses permeated the room, a particular loud exclamation or laughter sometimes breaking from the background. The food was still rapidly disappearing from the tables as tired waiters moved around replenishing it. The band still played, but with much less enthusiasm than at the beginning.

Charles mentally laughed but only a slight smile reached the surface. Half the room was filled with war-supporters, including high-ranking generals, Durmstrang graduates and prominent figures that funded the war. While the other half figured the loud opposition, self-proclaimed justice fighters. After inspecting the room some more, Charles wouldn't be surprised if he found Gellert himself somewhere around, drinking the punch Marianne made and commenting on the curtains his mother picked out.

The situation was as laughable as it was tragic.

Weren't they informed this was a charity event for the children orphaned by the very war they were funding and not a political event?

Oh well. He guesses that in war _everything_ was considered a political move. This party was a political move, attending was a political move, not attending was a political move, how much each side donated was a political move…

Maybe Dumbledore _could_ have ended the war in this very room, but as quickly as the thought appeared it disappeared. He wasn't going to damage everything he has done until now to end a war that will end soon enough.

If one single crispy strand of hair of a Goblin's head got damaged in the raid it would have meant the end of all his hard work. And he wasn't naïve enough to think his family wouldn't be sharing a cell with war criminals at the end of the night under the chargers of 'harbouring war criminals' and 'aiding and abetting'.

He took a detour to the kitchen to stop all movement of food to the ballroom. He also commanded, well, he told Marianne and she commanded, for the food to be taken away from the tables and the employers that did not live here, to leave as soon as possible. The ones that did live here to report to his parents as soon as possible.

After that was taken care of, he exited the kitchen through the door that connected with the ballroom.

He walked towards the band and informed them to announce the last song. They looked relieved. Charles stood while they announced the last song of the night and the hired host thanked everyone for their support and announced how much money they had raised that night. Everyone applauded and fireworks exploded in the ceiling. Everyone gasped in delight at the light show and as the fireworks finished, they started making their way towards the rows of fireplaces that glowed with unnatural green fire, talking freely and laughing while they waited for their turn.

In the mass of moving bodies, not far from where he was standing stood a familiar face that made his blood boil. He immediately recognized the blond hair, blue eyes and scar. How could he not? When he had seen this man recently. Oswald Volker.

He was standing with four other men. The first two Charles easily identified because their own distinguishable features even if it has been years since he last saw them.

A tall, white man with long blood-red hair, hazel eyes, freckles and a pouty mouth standing besides a dark skinned man with intensive dark eyes, insane muscles and an intimidating presence. The last two were more difficult to remember but he eventually placed them. The last time he saw them one was in full wizard battle regalia and the other had looked much younger. They all seemed to be in an engrossing conversation that did not look very pleasant.

They certainly stood out from the crowd with their straight back posture, serious faces and dangerous air. In contrast with the rest of the guests, they did not look intoxicated, overly happy or impressed by the fireworks. Their sharp, black attire enhanced their aura of power and danger. Guests were not immune to their dark allure and groups of hopefuls stood nearby with coy smiles.

Charles' mind raced with dark possibilities. They had not left on good terms and it was possible they were here for vengeance or a planned ambush in his own house. Or working for the enemy again.

Volker suddenly stopped speaking. His back tensing as he turned and looked directly at him. The rest also turned to look as well. Their faces gaining a sharp intensity. Damn. He's magic must have peaked in his anger. As unnoticeable as it might have been to the average wizard, these five were highly trained professionals that have been in contact with large quantities of his magic before. His magic wasn't one people who felt it tended to forget easily.

Charles' chin pointed at the doors, fire burning in his eyes. Charles could feel them following him as they cut a line through the moving bodies. Charles left the ballroom and entered a room that had no clear purpose other than to hold a few couches, a coffee table, a fireplace and expensive paintings.

Charles' magic threw the door close with enough strength to break it after the group of five entered. He was _pissed._

"Tell me one good reason I shouldn't kill you right now," he hissed.

Magic crackled and hissed around him. He could feel it pushing and pulling his hair and rushing through his skin. He was truly mad enough to kill them right now. He had been on edge all day and this had just pushed him off the cliff. He wasn't torturing them already because he could feel his family in the house, safe and sound. Even the snake was comfortably sleeping in Abby's room.

"We have no intention of harming you," the red head rapidly explained. "We were just curious. We saw your face on the paper. Charles Winter, twelve-year-old Hogwarts student. Son of a second-generation squib and the granddaughter of a veela. We couldn't believe it unless we saw it with our own eyes."

"And you thought it a good idea to drop uninvited to my home? Did you really think I would take kindly to seeing any of you again after last time?"

"Not uninvited." He hastily assured. "We paid for the invitation just like everyone else."

"If you value your life at all you should leave before I decide that you are working for the enemy again."

Five green balls materialised near his hands and playfully danced around him, imitating the harmless light balls parents amused their toddlers with. The five men tensed, recognizing the particular shade of green of the balls. And the silent threat.

"Talk," Charles commanded, magic mixing with his voice.

"I cannot speak for them, I arrived here alone, I only came here on orders" Volker said in his accented English after a moment of pause.

"What orders?" Charles demanded. His eyes promising extreme violence if he was not answered.

Volker looked undecided for a moment before speaking truthfully. "Master Grindelwald wished me here to observe tonight's activities. In specific if a Mr Dumbledore attended and if he did, who he interacted with, and if Aurors intervened. It had nothing to do with you or your family."

Charles nodded stiffly and turned his eyes to the rest.

"I am Cyel," the redhead said. "This here is Saman, Alexander and Peter. Like I told you earlier, we were just curious… You made quite an impression on us."

"Are you really twelve?" Saman asked. His voice, much like the rest of him, commanded attention, expressed power and whispered of danger. And while he was dressed formally, there was something savage about him. About his dark skin covered in scars, his bulging muscles and dark eyes. He made you think twice before insulting him and even then, it's with the complete knowledge that he'll kill you.

"What do you think?" Charles asked back harshly.

"You are not part of the Assassins'," The dark man declared confidently.

"How do you know?" Charles challenged.

"You're not. They don't know about you. Never even heard of you."

"Not many with your power and skill are able to successfully hide from them. Not many want to," Cyel said.

"What do you think?" Charles asked, looking at the dark haired, tan skinned man that Charles remembered for the absurdity of wearing a wizard hat to a fight.

Alexander, Cyel had called him. Charles disappeared the green balls with a negligent hand movement, as if he had tired of their presence. Now that he had a better handle on his anger, his mind was twirling with possibilities and plans.

Charles looked at the man in front of him closely, taking every detail. Alexander had featured in some of his nightmares of that day. His nightmares and memories had not been faithful to the man. Except for the eyes, everything else was foreign. Everything else had been Charles' mind filling the blanks. Alexander permitted the perusal and the others waited in silence, wondering but not interfering.

Alexander was tall and muscled. Not as tall as the redheaded Cyel or as muscled as Saman and, thus, easily missed while standing besides his attention grabbing associates. He was of Mediterranean descent, with dark, almond shaped eyes, strong nose, high cheekbones and wavy, dark hair that reached just bellow his jaw.

That day everything had been a blur. But in the nightmares the memories are slowed down and broken down into eternal instants. And an instant that constantly replayed in one of Charles' nightmare was the man's terror filled face the moment the earth opened and Charles was pushed away while he stayed behind with the inferis. It was only luck that had Charles on the safe side. In real life, the moment had lasted less than a second before Charles had gotten up and ran away, leaving the man to his death without a second thought.

As a rule, Charles never touched strangers, having learned his lesson with Tom, but he was curious. His eyes connected with Alexander's and he held out his hand, almost expecting to be denied.

Warily, Alexander stepped forward and grabbed his hand.

If Charles expected something grand to happen, he was severely disappointed. He felt nothing. Warm skin and a current of highly diluted magic that was particular to the man but little else. Alexander on the other hand seemed to be experiencing something else as his eyes dilated, his pulse quickened and his hand tightened on Charles'. When Charles forcedly dropped the hand that was crushing his, the man gasped, as if he'd been underwater. The man closed his eyes and breathed in deeply as if he was still savouring the magic. Charles wondered what he had felt. Tom has only said that it felt 'pleasant'.

"Fuck," Alexander murmured with his eyes still close.

"What do you think?" Charles asked him again, ignoring anything out of the norm had occurred.

Alexander opened his eyes abruptly. His eyes held both fear and need.

"I don't know anymore." It looked like it took a lot of concentration for him to remember to speak. "Don't think it matters. It doesn't change anything. Does it?"

"I think you are the illegitimate son of an Assassin and that he trained you when he bore no more children," Peter said, breaking Charles attention over Alexander. Peter was blue-eyed, with short brown hair and the youngest. He was maybe twenty-one. The last time Charles had seen him he had been in his teens.

Charles looked at Peter with raised eyebrows. "Interesting, but don't let my mother hear you say that. While it would have been useful to be trained since birth, it doesn't sound healthy. No, I spent my younger years playing dolls with my sister and throwing tantrums when I didn't get my way. And sleeping. I like to sleep. Besides I look too much like my father and, according to my mother, act just like him for it to be a coincidence."

Peter's gun flew from where it had been hiding in his leg to his hand.

"Nice," Charles commented, ignoring their suddenly aggressive stand. "You're still using the same model."

Peter, reluctantly, responded when Charles looked up to him. "Yeah. It was my father's."

Charles nodded and after taking the bullets out, handed it back. He kept the bullets.

"Any other day, this wouldn't be much of a problem. But it makes me very suspicious the time of your arrival."

They looked at each other before Cyel asked, "Is it happening again?"

It was curious how he spoke of it as an event, like an earthquake or tsunami, not as an individual.

Charles did not respond. But his silence was all the answer they needed. If they proved to be suspicious, he could kill them or erase their memories. But if they were truly here out of curiosity, while that could prove bothersome, it could also be beneficial. They were five strong wizards that could work as a team and have faced _Them_ before so they had more experience than even Isaac. He would be stupid not to take advantage of the situation.

"Is _he_ going to attack again tonight?" Volker asked warily.

"If by 'he', you mean someone possessed, then yes, there is a large probability of an attack. But I doubt it's going to be Gellert again. He's too strong to be possessed twice."

"Another?" Cyel screeched in a high pitch tone. "You mean they could possess anyone?"

"Yeah, basically anyone with magic."

"But why? Why are they attacking you?"

"I told you last time. I found out some secrets they did not wish me to find and they are trying to eliminate me before I grow up and eliminate them."

"Wise," Alexander murmured. Charles raised both eyebrows.

"I mean," Alexander amended, "If you are this powerful _now_, I can't imagine what you'll be capable of in a few years. If I were your enemy I'd also be trying to kill you while you are young and in theory, weaker." After a minute pause. "Not that _I_ am your enemy. I'm just saying. _Someone else_ might think like that."

"When are they attacking?" Saman asked, saving Alexander from his nervous rant.

Charles looked at his pocket watch. "In three hours four minutes." The fireplace exploded with green fire. The five tense men jumped and they were armed before they faced the fireplace.

"Careful with your head on the way out."

After a slight hesitation, Volker walked forward, towards the fireplace. He stopped before the fire and seemed to be fighting with himself before he spoke, "What happens after you are dead? What do they want?"

"Do you _really_ want to know?" Charles asked, knowing the answer.

Volker barked a laugh. "No. Not really. But tell me anyway."

"Isn't it obvious?"

Volker's hands curled and his back tensed. The man had little patience for games. "I'd rather you spell it out for me," he bit out.

"They'll destroy humanity," Charles said, almost casually. Volker turned to face him, "No, not in a war," Charles answered the silent question in Volker's eyes. The silent panic of fighting _another_ war. "When it comes it will come with no warning, no fight and no mercy. Killing all life is only an inconvenient side effect of their plans. Killing the only one that knows how to stop them is only logical." To say he _knew_ how to stop them was a bad lie. He only had the _potential_ to stop them, supposedly, and he questioned that potential everyday.

Charles looked at his watch one more time before closing it with a snap. He walked towards the door _hoping, hoping, hoping_ it worked.

"Goodnight, Gentlemen. I have a war to plan and you a train to catch. If memory serves, there's a train to Edinburgh leaving in ten minutes. You can make it if you hurry."

"Stop," Alexander finally called when Charles turned the nob of the door. Relief flooded through Charles' veins in a wave that almost left him dizzy.

Charles turned back with a raised brow and a politely inquiring face.

Alexander looked at his, not friends, there were no friends in their line of work, but after their experience together some years back with this very same boy they shared a bond of respect.

"How 'bout it boys? Do we repent before the Goddess?"

The Goddess being a personification of Magic. If Merlin is considered something of a saint, then Magic was the Deity among Wizards. _Repent before the Goddess_ was a common saying for those who felt they had used their magic immorally and wanted to make an act of sacrifice to repent. Or create a balance. Or cleanse their soul of the taint of killing. The reasons were as numerous as the doings.

In response, they took out their weapons. Charles looked at Volker, the only one that had not moved from besides the fireplace. If someone was going to walk out, Charles expected Volker to be the one.

Volker met Charles' eyes.

"Goddess, help me. After this, I expect to be pardoned for all my mistakes."

-0-

After the necessary vows that covered betrayal and harming his family that Charles required of everyone, Charles let them go to their respective houses to change and gather weapons with the promise to arrive an hour to six, the last chance before the wards closed.

"You can come out now," Charles said to the apparently empty room. A shadow trembled and convulsed before Seraphim stepped out. Charles watched him warily.

"You did well, little one." Seraphim said as he walked around him. Charles turned to keep him in his line of sight. "But I expected nothing less from you," Seraphim smiled, showing a set of perfectly white teeth with sharp canines that were only slightly longer than human's but glowed with venom.

Seraphim tsk'ed. "You are always so tense around me. Relax, I have no plans on hurting you. For now."

"What have the Elders decided?" Charles asked instead.

"You and I both know they have no choice but to do as I say."

The Elders only decided in matters that Seraphim did not care one way or another, which was almost everything.

Charles nodded. "And what do you say?"

Seraphim smiled widely, looking half-crazed. "No good party can finish without some blood on the walls."

-0-

Charles closed the door and reclined against it. His knees felt weak and shaky. He wasn't sure he could walk without falling. He closed his eyes and let the breath escape his lungs.

Every time he walked out from one of his 'talks' with Seraphim he felt like he escaped death's grasp by millimetres. He didn't blame Leviathan for crying every time he 'talked' with his Sire. Right now Charles held the record for being the only human that has been in the presence of Seraphim and walked out with blood on his veins. And, outside of Elders and their family members, the only being that has met with the Vampire King alone and lived to tell the tale. Five times. Charles didn't want to continue to test his luck. His poor heart might not survive it.

When he felt he could walk without embarrassing himself, he moved to find his parents. The house felt empty and silent. He only heard sounds from the room the leaders were conferring.

He found his parents in Penny's room packing some clothes for her. Penny was nowhere to be seen.

"Has everyone left?" Charles asked.

"We are the last ones. The girls are just packing for the snake in the other room."

Charles nodded. "Then you should leave now. I'll come get you in the morning."

"Of course we are staying here with you! We wouldn't leave you alone," Annabelle exclaimed. "The girls are going with Marianne."

Charles sighed tiredly. "Mama, it's dangerous."

"We are staying here and that's final."

Charles nodded, "Of course. You are my parents and I respect your authority, if you want to stay-" Charles stopped mid-sentence as his parent's eyes closed. They dropped to the floor, unconscious. "I would have to say I'm sorry, but you can't."

Charles rested his forehead against the wall and closed his eyes. He heard the door open and felt Tom stand next to him.

"They are going to hate me," Charles whispered miserably.

"No. I'm guessing they are going to resent you, mistrust you and fear your magic but I wouldn't go as far as hate."

Charles pressed his forehead against the cold wall. Tom was right. He could just imagine it. And maybe they wouldn't hate him _now_, but in a few years... that resentment and fear might turn to hate.

"Thanks Tom, that makes me feel so much better," he bit out with anger because being angry with Tom was easier.

Tom put a hand on his shoulder and turned him. Charles wasn't surprised to see him fully clothed to fight and covered in weapons. "Don't worry, if you wouldn't have done it, I would have."

That actually did made him feel better because if someday he was too emotionally compromised to make a decision regarding his parents, he could trust Tom to do it. Charles nodded, swallowing his misery for another day, another nightmare, and another hidden scar.

"Are you leaving?" Charles asked, his voice not above a whisper.

"You can't make me," Tom whispered back.

Charles felt selfishly grateful for the fact. If he could have made Tom leave against his will, then he would have felt obliged to do it.

"Help me get them out of here."

Charles took his mother in his arms after reducing her weight to five pounds. She looked pale and fragile in his arms. Like a corpse. He settled her gently on the floor of his room. Less gently, Tom settled Frank besides her.

"I'll go look for the brats," Tom offered. Charles nodded and heard him leave, not taking his eyes from his parents still form. A few minutes later Charles heard the scuffing, grunts, curses and screams. He faced the door to see Tom enter, one girl held in a punishing grip in each hand.

"Tom, let them go," Charles snapped. Tom pushed them forward as if they were criminals. Abigael managed to kick Tom's shin before she fell. Charles grabbed her before she touched the floor, sending a glare to Tom. She hugged him and before she could see the state of their parents and cry, her body sagged and her eyelids dropped.

He didn't do the same to Penny because she would be able to immediately detect his magic on them and not panic. Abby would have screamed and panicked.

"Penny, I need you to go with mom and dad."

"But! I want to be here with you. I can fight!" she begged. Charles looked at Tom with the promise of pain for even hinting at a fight.

"No. I need you with them, not here."

"I will be safe, I promise. I'll follow your instructions and won't talk," her eyes watered as she pleaded.

Charles quelled the desire to snap at her. It wasn't her fault. She was nine.

"Listen, Penny. Remember when we played war and I sent a team of inferi pirates to attack your spaceship but secretly sent the majority of my dragons and demons to your safe house?"

She scrunched her nose, but the change in conversation stopped the tears. Realization hit her a moment later. "You think this is a distraction? And their goal is something else?"

"We cannot discard the possibility, can we?"

"No…" she said after a long pause that spoke of suspicion, "Do you truly believe it or are you just trying to get me to leave?"

"I need you there. If they put wards to prevent me from entering I can still get in if you are inside the wards."

"You can?" she asked with surprise.

"You remember how to send me a message from afar?"

"I have to put blood on the round thingy and draw the communication rune."

Charles nodded. "Go. Stay behind the wards and don't let anyone leave. If they leave, don't allow them back in. Send me a message if you notice anything weird, anything at all, or if someone is acting strangely. If the main wards break, put rudimentary runes around the smallest room and stay there with mom, dad and Abby until I get there, ok?"

She nodded, fear of the situation finally entering her eyes. This was no game.

"Be brave for me?" Charles asked.

She nodded, her eyes wide and scared. Charles kissed her forehead gently and moved away. She grabbed a bag and a carrier with the sleeping snake before moving to stand with the rest. With a flash, they disappeared from his room.

"I'll be right back," Charles muttered.

"Charles?" Tom called.

"I just have to use the loo," Charles responded as he walked away, opened the door and closed it quietly behind him. He slid down the tiles until his knees touched his forehead. With a sudden urgency, he stood up and ran towards the toilet, opening the lid and retching.

He heard the door open and close. Charles simply let his forehead rest against the toilet, too tired to move. Soft hands touched his forehead and moved his hair away. Charles leaned towards the touch. Starved for some affection.

"Did I do the right thing?" He has never felt so dirty. Using his magic against his family was something he swore he'd never do.

Tom gently brushed his hair while Charles' head rested on his chest. "They make you weak and distracted. You don't need them." As an afterthought, Tom added, "They are safer now. It's better this way. They'll understand. Eventually."

Eventually, Charles repeated in his mind. They'll forgive him. He had to trust that. He had betrayed their trust, ignored their wishes and forced them away. But he'll win it back. He'll do whatever they wanted; take whatever punishment they deemed suitable for his betrayal, as long as they forgave him.

Tom carded his fingers through his hair in a gentle, rhythmic motion that was soothing in its familiarity. Charles closed his eyes and breathed Tom in. He let his mind rest for a minute before pushing all of his worries and fears to the back of his mind. When he opened his eyes they were as flat and cold as a frozen lake.

Feeling the change, Tom stopped his movement and let Charles get up. It was unhealthy, but necessary. He could deal with the supressed feelings later. His nightmares will make sure of it. He just had to survive today.

They stood up and before things could get awkward, Tom spoke, "I'll start the countdown on the house and prepare the electrical bridge. Go talk to the bloodsuckers, midgets and mutts."

Charles snorted. Tom will never be a diplomat.

"Tom", Charles called before they separated. Tom looked back with a raised eyebrow.

"Thanks."

"Don't get used to it."

Charles smiled slightly, barely a turn of his lips, and walked away. _Too late_, Charles thought. He was already used to it.

-0-

Charles entered the room and it immediately quietened. With a look, the fireplace turned green.

"Those who made their decision, leave."

Charles held out a hand to stop the outbursts. "I don't care about your reasons. Leave or stay, those are your options."

Everyone started talking over each other.

Charles' magic exploded out of him. Nothing moved or changed, he had too much control for that, but the sensation of raw, magical power rushing through the room effectively silenced everyone. Charles breathed deeply and regained his fury, trapping it again behind a cold wall.

"I'll say this one more time," he whispered, "I don't care to hear your reasoning. Either get the fuck out of my house or stay and follow me to the weapon's room. Your only way out will close in five minutes."

With that Charles left the room. And prayed.

He heard one set of footsteps follow him, then two, then three. By the time he reached the weapon's room he had close to one hundred sets of footsteps behind him.

Charles felt a trill of excitement. He knew that dealing with Vampires, Goblins and Werewolves was different than dealing with Wizards or Muggles. He had to be harsher, colder, and uncaring. It was part of what they expected from a leader, what they respected. In the end it was probably what tipped the balance to his favour. But it was always a tricky game to play.

The vampires that accompanied Seraphim had stayed with the exception of the more… _decorative_ entourage. All the goblins from all four nations that had entered his house followed him, none of them what one would call 'decorative' or had been in his house for a night of entertainment. But only a few of the werewolves of the Blue Moon clan stayed, including their leader.

Charles knew all of this without having to turn around and look. The long, graceful steps of Vampires with their hard heel dress shoes. The short, loud and rapid steps of Goblins. And the sound of soft leather against marble from the Werewolves.

Charles stopped walking when he reached the door he wanted. In front of the door stood five wizards, all dressed for a fight and covered in weapons. It was obvious they had just gotten out of the floo from the room behind them. They had ash on their clothes. Charles nodded to them and opened the door they had just closed.

The door opened, and instead of the useless room with furniture, fireplace and paintings they had seen earlier, the door opened to a large room with white floors, white walls and almost painfully bright magical white lighting. The room continued on, seemingly endlessly. And while white was everywhere it was the minority compared to all the black weapons and black metal shelves that covered the entire room.

As Charles expected, Tom was already inside the room inspecting his favourite weapon for faults. He looked up when the others entered. His dark eyes fixed for a moment to Charles' left, where Seraphim was, and then to a few of the more powerful in the room, looking at their faces, cataloguing information and detecting weaknesses before going back to Charles in less than a second.

Tom was dressed in black trousers held by a sturdy belt with gun holders, a black, long sleeved cotton shirt, black working boots and his hair perfectly combed to the side. By his feet he had his black leather bag that contained emergency equipment and extras.

For a moment, Charles was transported to another day, years ago, when Tom had wondered about the necessity of wearing an all black ensemble. At the moment he had looked at Tom as if it was obvious before shrugging it off as tradition.

"Are you going to tell me the next natural step in any relationship is waging a war together?" Tom asked with a dark smirk, startling Charles from his memory. His face must have betrayed him in some way.

Charles was not surprised Tom followed where his mind had wondered off. It always amused him (and annoyed him) that Tom could connect seemingly random dots and get a clear picture. Especially where he was concerned.

Charles' eyes smiled even if his face was closed. "Only for the _really_ healthy relationships, Tom," he murmured.

The moment passed and Charles confronted the group behind him.

"For your safety, do not touch anything until I have explained what it does. Or do, whatever, you are all big boys, capable of picking up your own innards, but be mindful of the white walls and damaging the weapons," with that cryptic warning, Charles moved on. "Magical weapons to this side, Non-magical that side, stay away from the back and only take what you can control."

Charles picked up one weapon and after taking out the safety, shot at the wall that had been made for demonstrations. A hole the size of a head appeared. He shot five times to demonstrate the lag time between one shot and another.

"There's not much to it, just point and shot."

He put it down again and picked up the next one. One by one, he showed the others how to use them and what they did with short descriptions and a demonstration.

"I recommend taking equal amounts of magical and non-magical guns because while magical weapons do more damage, they also tend to tire you quickly and anti-magic wards can render them useless. A combination of short distance and long distance is always recommendable. Wage the pros and cons of each weapon and make wise decisions. Remember you'll must likely have to run with them and some can be heavy or uncomfortably large."

The group, through they valiantly tried to disguise it, looked like excited children in a toy store. Even Seraphim was absorbed enough that his magic had reseeded to something more manageable for the rest to handle.

They were creatures that loved war and blood more than sex or food. It only made sense that machines made for large-scale destruction made them salivate. A room full of futuristic-looking death devices with more power they dreamed possible had them on a high.

"The weapons don't work against each other, so those of you with terrible aim can rest in peace and those planning on betraying someone in the heat of the battle will just have to make do with good, old fashion hands to the neck or the ever classic knife to the back."

After the demonstrations Charles let everyone a few minutes to discover the room, try the weapons and discuss the pros and cons of each one. The back of the room had hundreds of spare pieces, metal soldering tools and working tables with half-finished weapons. Each gun smelled like him, every part had his fingerprints so it did not take them long to figure out he had hand made each and every gun in the room.

It made them worry.

After the few minutes passed he called them to the largest open space area in the room.

"We are going to break up in teams depending on skills. Those who have experience with hand-to-hand combat step back," a large group, almost the majority, stepped back. "From those who did not step back, those who have long-distance aim step forward." Half of the group in front stepped forward.

Charles inspected the weapons they were holding and made changes. He continued to separate them by skill and change their weapon to best suit that skill, while still leaving them with plenty of options.

He let Seraphim alone to whatever made him happy. He wasn't so sure he could have taken the gun out of his arms after he fell in love with it anyway. His eyes were bright with an excitement Charles' hadn't seen before. Charles pitied the vampires if there was no war tonight. Seraphim would just use them as target practice.

Charles fell into his role seamlessly. His mind fell in a trance were everything was clear and sharp. He instinctively knew what he was doing and what had to be done; what will work and what will not. He had done this countless of times. Even if his conscious mind did not remember the details, he subconsciously simply _knew_ what to do, what to say. There was no space for doubts, fear or second-guessing now. His mind travelled from plan to plan with a clarity he rarely experience outside of life threatening situations.

He was left unchallenged, which he knew was unusual. Even in well-known teams with many years of experience working together the leader was constantly challenged. Which could only mean he was being tested.

It did not surprise Charles that they wanted to know how he would handle things, what his modus operandi was and learn everything in case they had to someday fight against him. They also wanted to know if he could pull this off by himself. So they cooperated and did not add opinions or corrections even when their face showed they obviously did not agree with what he was doing.

But this suited Charles too much for him to complain. Strong, obedient, _silent_ soldiers were the dream of every commander.

His voice sounded clear and strong as he moved them into smaller teams. Tom sometimes adding his input when a team was imbalanced, either because it was too weak or too powerful. He did not explain the logic behind the groups; that could wait until later. Only Tom understood the logic behind what he was doing. Not surprising, after years of 'playing' together Tom knew how his mind worked and how he preferred to defend and attack.

"What! Why are you putting me with the leeches?" Isaac demanded. No one else had complained about their mixed groups.

Charles looked at Isaac flatly but his eyes quickly moved to the Blue Moon Alpha that had not interrupted, if Charles permitted the disrespect he wouldn't do anything since he was unsure about the relationship his Omega had with the wizard.

"Alpha, control your pack," Charles said to the Blue Moon Alpha.

The look the Alpha sent Isaac was chilling. Isaac's eyes flashed with mutiny but Charles continued without paying him any mind.

Tom gave him a pointed look that made Charles check the hour.

"Time's up," Charles shouted. "Everyone start making your way out of the room." There was a large shuffling, pushing and pulling as everyone rushed to take as many weapons as they could carry and then some.

The lights in the room started going off one by one, causing the ones still dawdling to rush to the door. Charles was the last one to exit, closing the door behind him.

Charles led them back to the ballroom, the only room besides the library big enough for this crowd. The room was abandoned and dirty with glasses, plates and full tables.

Decoration hanged from the ceiling like broken bodies, looking depressing instead of festive. The instructions had been to leave everything as is, pack for one night and leave.

His steps echoed in the large room. Charles stopped in the middle of the room before turning back and facing the crowd. Blue eyes connected with grey. Hyperion stood alone in a corner of the room, dressed in simple, form fitting clothes that were a far cry from the luxurious robes he had worn earlier. Charles raised one eyebrow in question but only got a shrug and a smile in return. Charles returned the smirk, eyes shinning with delight.

Charles' eyes found Tom's and they mirrored his sadistic delight. His eyes left Tom's because otherwise he would start smiling and his position of power demanded he be serious and solemn at the moment. Blocking the fear and doubt that usually clouded his mind left him with something else…something considerably darker.

He waited until silence fell over the crowd. It was a short wait. They were excited and itching for blood. Charles had purposely geared them up with weapons before the explanation to have them agitated, eager and full of anticipation. Now he could point them at any enemy and they'll rush to kill it. Largely just to try the weapons against moving obstacles. But more importantly, he could get away with short but emotionally charged explications that invoked their need to defend instead of…the complete, naked truth.

Charles looked at each of their faces. It was a small crowd and he wanted to call forth that intimacy. When he spoke his voice was full of raw power, demanding their complete attention.

"You might be wondering what we are up against and I'll tell you. We are facing extinction. Not the extinction of Wizards, or Vampires, or Werewolves," he made sure to look at each group when naming them, "but the extinction of _all life_."

Charles left the comment hang in the air for a few seconds before continuing.

"I have been part of a specialized group that has been fighting this war for many millenniums. I am here to tell you we lost this war. The only reason I stand here before you is because we did the unthinkable. We turned back time. I now realize what our mistake was, why we lost. We thought this war was our war. We've been fighting it for so long that we forgot we are not the only ones capable of fighting it. Everyone's existence depends on the outcome of this war so I'm doing the unthinkable and inviting each of you to fight with me."

Tom stood to the side, not truly listening to Charles' impassioned speech, only enjoying the fierce emotion he was invoking in others. Charles was truly a stunning sight when he was like this.

For once, he was not hiding his true self but embracing it. Without intending it, for it came naturally to him, he emitted the kind of savage power that made bones tremble and hearts weak with irrational fear. The same kind of fear the first man on Earth must have faced when he stood before the power of a storm.

Because that was what Charles was, a destructive force in the form of a boy.

Charles might enjoy peace, but he was made for war. Made for destruction and chaos and mayhem. And the crowd responded to that, to him, because it called and satisfied the very same darkness that existed within them.

"To prove that **together** _we can win!_" Charles finished, his voice hoarse from shouting.

Much like the last time Charles spoke to an army, the response was immediate and deafening. Charles smiled and the crowd responded with cheers, high on his power and darkness. Willing to do almost anything for him.

Few people could do this. Enrapt and ensnare souls with words. But more than that, few people could have pulled this off. Charles had the best fighters _of the world_ in this room, ready to fight with him, for him. He had some of the most influential leaders of the Magical world backing him. He only had to say the word.

Of course, it had not happened by casualty or luck. Charles had cultivated his political connection through the years, feeding it and guarding it jealously, knowing that one day he would need the backup for the war.

Today they were only defending against an attack, but the day will come when a full out war will break out. And if all went well today, when word spreads, as it inevitably will, they might have the political and financial backing of the _entire Magical World_.

Not bad, for a day's work.

After finishing speaking, Charles heeded directly for him. Tom had trouble hiding the smug smile that wanted to break out. He was receiving jealous looks from the entire room. Charles reached him, touched his arm and walked away. Tom followed, feeling Hyperion behind him.

Charles climbed the stairs two at a time. He reached his room and immediately started the water for a bath.

"Fuck, I'm tired."

Tom moved around the room, looking for suitable clothes. They needed to be appropriate for a leader but confortable. If he let the chore to Charles, he'll just choose whatever was closer to his hand and that was unacceptable. And he had the perfect socks for the occasion. To be sure, he put an advanced compulsion charm on the socks. Some things cannot be left to chance.

Tom heard Charles hiss as he entered the water.

"Where's Abraxas?" Tom asked.

"At home," Hyperion answered.

Tom nodded, not really surprised. Hyperion wouldn't risk his son.

Tom entered the bathroom to find Charles relaxing with his eyes closed.

"We don't have much time," Tom reminded him.

"We have an hour."

Tom opened his mouth to tell him all the things they had yet to do but Charles opened his eyes and Tom closed his mouth with a snap.

"I need this, Tom."

"Let him be. We can spare a few minutes."

Tom huffed but did not insist. Charles closed his eyes again and relaxed his body. Tom and Hyperion left to give him some privacy. Less than five minutes later, Charles got up from his deep meditative state and dressed. His hair still dripping.

"Go on without me, I'll catch up in a moment," Charles told him. They obeyed him without question because it hadn't been a suggestion.

Charles closed his eyes in annoyance, closed the door to his room and whispered, "Leviathan, what the hell are you doing here? I thought I told you to leave." His eyes flashed with anger.

Leviathan appeared from behind the warded wall with a sheepish expression. The wall protected him from Tom noticing his presence in the room.

"You must understand. I couldn't go," Leviathan pleaded. "He'll be here, fighting. I can't just leave him alone, something might happen to him." Maybe it was the lighting, but Charles swore that the vampire's eyes watered with emotion.

"Damn you, Leviathan. Leandro will not…" Charles sighed in resignation. He looked at Leviathan's falling face and he simply could not break Leviathan's heart by stating the obvious. "You can stay on the roof. You'll be able to keep an eye on him from there."

"You are the best," Leviathan exclaimed, taking two large steps and pulling him into a killing hug.

"You're killing me with your excessive love," Charles muttered as he used his magic to separate the overly affectionate vampire before he _actually_ killed him. Always a real possibility.

"You are a good friend, Charles," Leviathan told him, his eyes shinning with sincerity.

"Just don't get killed."

Charles looked at the ceiling and stayed silent as he listened. "Come on, we must move. It's starting."

"What's starting?" Leviathan asked with panic.

"The wards on the house."

"But it's not yet six!"

"These are the emergency wards of the house activating. Not the outer wards changing. Come on, we must get out of here before we get caught in the middle."

Leviathan followed him at a brisk pace to the ballroom. He opened the doors and immediately obtained everyone's attention.

"Is everyone here?" he demanded. A cold breeze entered the room. "Too late."

The room occupants jumped as the breeze, at first unnoticeable, grew and grew until it started moving the objects around the room.

"Don't worry, it's just the emergency wards." Charles walked towards the nearest chair and sat, he put his hands on the table. Tom sat next to him. Eventually, everyone found a place and sat.

It was a good thing they were siting because in moments every decorative article in the room soared across the room and joined others, forming a floating river of metal that sailed right over their heads. It started with the small and lightweight objects but quickly moved to the larger pieces of furniture. With the exception of the chairs and tables that were in use, everything else escaped from the room to the main corridor where it joined the rivers of articles from the other rooms. It continued until every statue, painting, rug, curtain, chandelier, candlestick and grandfather clock in every room joined the invisible current.

In less than ten minutes every room in the house was barren.

Everyone strained their ears in the silence and waited with bated breath. The noise of a window slamming down made the goblins in the room draw their swords. The first one was followed by countless others. The sounds of the doors slamming and locking were added to the canopy of noise.

They silently wondered what kind of magic was at work here, as they had never seen something like it.

Liquid metal curtains descended from the ceiling, covering every wall and window. The liquid solidified in seconds, creating an impenetrable barrier and providing extra support to the columns of the house in case of attack. The chimney and the vents were also closed off but with a latch that could be opened from the inside.

Charles opened his watch. Half an hour to get into position. He wasted no time. He conjured a model of how the house was now. All the unnecessary rooms and corridors had vanished; the model of the house was simpler and better to defend if penetrated.

"This is how its going to work," Charles said and proceeded to instruct every team where they were going to be, what they were protecting and emergency escapes from where they were positioned.

It was a time consuming work but a necessary one.

Every eye was on him and they listened attentively. The map and every direction were memorized. These were not rookies fresh out of Auror School but experienced veterans that did not need hand-holding. What they lacked in numbers they made up in experience and power.

Within the first few minutes it became obvious that Charles' way was not the conventional way of 'sword (or wand) held high and straight-forward advance towards the enemies and hope for the best', like they were used to. He used backstreet and smoke tactics whenever possible.

Every team had a well-defined purpose and fit in the overall scheme of the plan, which was quite simple. But when everything combined like a well synchronized dance, the end result was a masterpiece. If anyone still held doubts, they died swiftly. It was not the same being a powerful soldier than a respected leader and nothing gained the respect of these beings more than war knowledge.

"Every house in the land now looks very much like this place and is equipped with fire arms and first aid equipment. If they are compromised, you won't be able to enter. I repeat, your chance of survival depends on your ability to stay with your team. _Don't _go off on your own." Charles checked his watch. "Ok, fifteen minutes to six. Everyone move."

The room exploded in movement as everyone walked with purpose to their destination.

Charles grabbed Leviathan's arm. Charles gave him a black box Leviathan was very familiar with, but had never touched. It was not a weapon. But it will help him more than any weapon to keep himself alive and Leandro safe. It controlled the entire property and was connected to every ward, both indoor and outdoor. With this Leviathan could even manipulate the terrain.

"The roof," Charles reminded him. Leviathan took the lightweight black box with both hands, speechless. The trust Charles was showing him by giving him this was enormous. Especially for someone as paranoid as Charles.

Leviathan nodded, the knot on his throat not letting him talk. Leviathan hoped his eyes conveyed his gratitude.

Charles left him and moved to the front, he was one of the few teams on the ground, meaning the most dangerous place to be but it was the best position to do most damage.

The outside air was cold and dark. It wasn't snowing, but it had snowed recently. Charles boots crushed the ice noisily and clouds formed with each exhale.

Charles wouldn't have thought to dress warmly, but thankfully Tom had. He looked down at his black ensemble that stood out on the white carpet like a black ink stain, with a smile Charles changed it to white, doing the same to Tom while Hyperion changed his. Soon the sun will rise and white will be a better colour to blend in.

His team consisted of Tom and Hyperion. He trusted no one else to watch his back. And they knew how to work as a single entity. It would have been even better with Abraxas but Hyperion would never risk his son like that.

Seraphim was besides him with an unholy smile. He did not seem preoccupied with the cold or how his fine robes dragged through the snow. Seraphim had no team, in good conscious Charles couldn't do that to anyone. Seraphim was simply not a team player and another person besides him ran the risk of being used as an expendable human shield.

Charles looked back, everyone seemed in place. He looked up to the dome that covered the entire propriety. It blurred the night sky and prevented the light from the stars to be seen. It started cracking. Charles checked his clock.

Six o'clock.

* * *

><p>AN

So I really tried with this chapter. It had a LOT of characters that normally don't interact and a lot of things to cover. Almost every day this week I would remember something I had forgot to include in the chapter. Or wake up in the middle of the night to correct or add something. I hope I didn't forget anything and that the result was not convoluted. Or messy. Or horrible. A lot of things crashed in this chapter and I guess you can now see where I'm going with a few characters and the reason for some of the things in past chapters. (Besides me having fun.)

So, yeah, **review**. Let me know what you thought. It's kind of important for me to know that I got this pivotal chapter right. If anything needs correcting it shall be corrected. But for that you need to **review**.

Ps. and completely unrelated, can you suggest zombie + harry potter fics. One wonderful reviewer suggested one that was Tom/ Harry and then I read one that was Draco/ harry zombie apocalypse but it only has one chapter and I'm obsessed with reading more. So if you know any story like that, review and tell me!


	45. Chapter 45: Spider Web

Chapter 45: Spider web

_"In wartime, truth is so precious that she should always be attended by a bodyguard of lies." Winston Churchill _

Six o'clock. The gold pocket watch closed with a loud click in the sudden silence. Charles stood still, holding his breath as a strong breeze swept over the valley, dark clouds gathered and obscured the moon. His nail absentmindedly scratched the familiar patterns that decorated the watch. There was a noticeable shift in the magic; like a power plant being turned off for a few seconds and then abruptly turned on again with a much greater intensity. Charles slipped the watch into his pocket to control the urge to play with it until his fingers bled.

The wards grinded and screeched like pieces of an old clock forced to work after years of being unused. The initial crack continued until it formed a single line that covered the entire dome. Soon it opened and spread like the branches of a tree. Charles' heartbeat accelerated until it felt like the loudest thing in the entire valley. A very rapid and very violent _thud, thud, thud._

_This is it_, he thought, his palms sweaty. He breathed deeply and tried to calm the sudden rush of adrenaline that made him want to scream, move or do something, anything, even laugh out loud. His ears quickly adapted to the unnatural silence that enveloped them. His senses expanded and sharpened.

He stayed very, very still, acutely aware of Tom to his left and Hyperion to his right, their breathing loud in the silence. The sudden drop in temperature came without warning. His nails and lips turned blue in a matter of seconds and every inhalation brought a sharp pain to his chest. Trees crystalized and the very air seemed to freeze. The outside pressure increased until staying upright became a chore for his muscles.

Because of the radical, almost unbearable changes in the atmosphere, the inside of the house had different, independent wards that protected it from the more harmful effects of having a ward of this magnitude. It was the reason wizards didn't even consider a ward of this magnitude, but there was one flaw to this masterpiece, the Achilles' heel of a construction this complicated, a deadly weakness in spite of the overall strength.

For the next sixty seconds while the wards changed they will be left unprotected and in the perfect place to be attacked, unable to leave because of the unstable form of the wards blocking all magical means of exit or by foot because they were surrounded by mountains. They were essentially trapped in while the wards changed. Of his head Charles could think of at least ten plans that could be executed successfully on 50 of those 60 seconds. By himself.

Seraphim's pleased laugh was the first and only warning Charles needed. A trill ran down his back. It was starting. Charles looked in the direction Seraphim faced and squinted his eyes, not seeing anything in the darkness. With an annoyed sigh, Charles took off his glasses and spelled them for inhuman night vision and tried again.

_There. _

Even with enhanced eyesight it was hard to spot a dark shape on a dark night but the subtle mother of pearl shine from the wards gave them away. Something human-shaped was crawling on top of the wards with inhuman speed and agility.

Human-like but not quite human, even with the distance and the darkness there was something… _off_ about their long-legged movement. Unnatural. They moved more like spiders with four legs than two-legged creatures. When Charles noticed the first, sixty were already crawling the wards and with each second they seemed to increase their numbers by a factor of ten until the entire sky was full of black moving shapes.

Insect-like sounds escaped them as their hands twitched with electric blue light before they randomly moved to another segment of the ward. Charles slowly turned in a circle, unable to believe what he was seeing. When there was no more space left, they crawled on top of each other, fighting for space, screeching and falling. Soon, the strange sounds filled the night and they were all Charles could hear; black and blue all he could see.

"Demons," Hyperion whispered. The increase of the background noise was the only indicative that while they could not see it, the creatures were still increasing in number.

"Low-level demons," Charles agreed.

"You think we'll have to deal with higher level demons?" Hyperion asked uneasily.

"Most likely scenario."

"Do we have anything that works against higher level demons?" Tom asked.

"ehh…" Charles responded unsurely, thinking on something that might work.

"Charles?" Tom demanded sharply. Only Tom could make his name an accusation. The valley was getting darker and colder. The house disappeared from view.

"I'm thinking," Charles responded testily. "Did we ever finish the experiment with mutated flesh-eating virus?"

"No. We never tested them. But we stored some samples underground. You think it might work?"

Charles passed a frustrated hand through his hair, pulling at it a bit.

"I don't know," he answered truthfully.

"How about the-?" Tom started but Charles didn't allow him to finish.

"I never finished it."

"Do you ever finish anything?" Tom spat.

Charles glared at Tom, "You think you can do better?! I work every single day while you laze around with a book–"

"Not the time," Hyperion snapped. Grudgingly, they stopped glaring at each other.

Charles breathed deeply and thought of the situation. Killing higher-level demons was unheard of. There was no known way to control them or bind them with rituals like there was for lower-level demons. Partly because they always killed whoever summoned them.

"There must be thousands," Hyperion said, his complexion pale. "No one can summon this many!"

"How do you summon an entire realm of demons?" Tom asked Charles.

"_You don't_. You can summon one, at most two, low-level demon and _maybe_, if it's a weak demon, be able to have control it. This is not summoning. Someone created a bridge." Charles passed one hand over his hair in frustration, dispersing the ice that had gathered. "A bridge is different from a summoning because they are not obligated to cross realms," Charles explained. "It happened before, I think it was a foolish wizard to destroy the centaur city of Hamna."

"What centaur city of Hamna? Such a thing doesn't exist!" Hyperion exclaimed with agitation.

"_Exactly_."

Demons roamed the earth, everyone knew that, even muggles. They walked the streets freely (terrorizing humans), owned stores (that sold humans) and did business (selling humans to vampires, werewolves or wizards that needed human sacrifices). Just like any other underground species they existed, survived and even thrived on earth. Except they were not from earth, they were from another realm.

At the start of the 12th century wizards discovered they could summon lower-level demons and control them with some success. It got fairly popular around the 1600's; wizards summoned a wide variety of demons, created tools, portals and spells to facilitate the transfer and, eventually, created a market for demons. Demons became the new and improved domestic elf, a high-cost, high-maintenance commodity that only the rich and wealthy could afford. A symbol of affluence that everyone wanted, whether they knew what to do with a demon or not.

Wizards opened a can of worms the population wasn't ready for. History remembers that period as the blood years. King Leopald was the first wizard to use demons in battle. He summoned an army of demons in the battle against the centaur city of Hamna using a bridge. He thought that the Goddess favoured his war when demons walked to him _out of their own free will_.

No one from the king's soldiers ever came back. In a year the centaurs stopped asking if anyone had heard of any survivors and retreated to the darkness of the forest. Half the wizard population was lost in the years following and never recovered. The lesson was well learned and every book that spoke of demons was destroyed in the hope that the craft would die with the past.

"What could tempt the a legion of demons?" Hyperion asked, visibly frustrated and unbalanced. It was not every day that you were faced with an army of demons.

"I'm guessing we'll soon find out," Charles said as the cracked ward finally succumbed to pressure and broke. There was a strong, vacuum-like effect were the ward pulled at the earth but then it eased and exploded outwards. The temperature and pressure went back to normal.

With nothing supporting them, the human-like creatures fell from the sky like some biblical plague. As they neared, Charles was able to see them better. They had excessively long appendages, black, undefined features and large, white eyes with black line that crossed them.

In seconds the land was unrecognizable. Trusting Tom and Hyperion to cover him, Charles opened the backpack Tom had brought. With speed that spoke of long hours of practice he grabbed everything he needed, some he might not and few others just because. Without looking, he tossed a few in Tom's general direction. Tom grabbed them without trouble but sent him a glare for doing this at the last possible second. Like always.

Everything was quickly and efficiently hidden and strapped to his body. In his hand he had one of the newer, deadlier models. It had poor long-range accuracy but a deadly force that stroke over a wide field. It was practically unusable for any situation where pedestrians and enemies were together and Charles had almost deemed it a failed attempt. He was glad he had kept it around because right now it was perfect one for the field full of enemies and nothing else.

Already he could hear explosions going off in the distance and people yelling. It was clear they will not win in a fair fight, but Charles had no intention of playing fairly. This will be quick and dirty, breaking every rule of honour, conduct and valour ever created.

He secured the bag on his shoulders, breathed deeply and cleared his mind. He positioned his body and raised his arm. In one fluid move he aimed and shot. The blast was enough to send shockwaves over his body and create a path of destruction. The noise alone was deafening.

"Wow," Charles breathed, a little dazzled. Of course he had tried it before, but never against real targets, just shock absorbing walls. For some unfathomable reason his mother did not approve of experimenting with potentially unstable, homemade weapons in the backyard or of him creating them in the first place so it did limit his ability to test them. He met Tom's eyes. Tom's subtle frown showed his displeasure that Charles had the better weapon. Charles' face was smug.

Light blinded them and Charles was forced to close his eyes and take his enhanced glasses off before they permanently blinded him. After a moment to adjust, he opened his eyes, adjusted his glasses and put them back on. The land in front of Seraphim was completely decimated. It was as if a bomb had exploded in front of the vampire. A large mushroom shaped cloud rose and debris rained down. The earth continued to tremble minutes after the blast. Even with all noise, the explosions, the fire and the creatures screaming in rage, Charles could hear Seraphim's mad crackling laugh and it was enough to make him smile.

Feeling his neck prickle in warning, Charles quickly pointed his gun upwards and disposed of two that were falling directly above him. He was showered with black, sticky entrails that smelled like rotten frog. He was glad his glasses protected his eyes but he had had the bad fortune of having his mouth partially opened. He paused for a moment to spit and gag in absolute disgust.

Still reeling with disgust and half blind, he shot two more that were getting too close and four that were falling. With his gun it was more about passion than precision. Instead of one, it killed a dozen, the innocent tree that was four feet away and a random bird on the other side. But it killed them with such sheer violence and brutality that Charles couldn't help but fall in love. It touched and fuelled that crevice in his heart that craved large-scale destruction. Doing advanced magic from the start would drain them quickly but weapons did a lot of damage, not as much as magic, but they cost next to no energy to use them.

The creatures ran towards them from all sides with no plan other than to tear them apart, uncaring of stepping on top of the countless others that had perished before them. Their hollow faces contorted with mindless rage. They worked alone, with no teamwork or strategy other than to reach the wizards and kill them. They made easy targets but fearsome enemies when they were at hand distance.

Charles jumped back before a claw could tear away his stomach. His feet landed on the slippery and uneven surface of dead demon and he wavered. With effort he regained his balance in time to blast the demon that had jumped to attack him in his moment of weakness. His other hand reached for the gun strapped to his ankle mid-step and he pulled the trigger on the demon closing on his left before he was able to make a conscious decision to do it. Black matter rained on him.

The earth trembled with another of Seraphim's shots. Charles' eyes searched for Tom in the smoke. Hyperion was two meters to his left and one meter back, Tom a little closer to his right. They formed a rough triangle with Seraphim some ten meters to the front. While physically separated to prevent injury, Charles had them tightly bound to his magic and they him.

Both Hyperion and Tom were covered in black entrails, mud and small scratches. Hyperion's fair hair was dirty and had come undone from its tight bun. Despite his early fear, he was calm and controlled as he systematically destroyed everything in his path with clinical precision. Experience and practice took over and controlled his every movement. His sharp eyes focused, going from one enemy to another without blinking. Hyperion was covered with enough ammunition to take on an army by himself but as things were, it probably wouldn't be enough.

Charles could hear more than see Seraphim. A mountain of bodies, both dead and alive, obscured the vampire. His deep belly laughs lacked their usual cold edge. Mushroom shaped clouds rose in the air with increasing frequency and black, squishy debris fell down the valley.

Tom looked more relaxed while gutting a demon than when he was forced into polite conversation. Charles was not surprised. Tom was not a 'people person', at least not while they were alive and talking. Tom's idea of human interaction was limited to human experimentation.

Charles quickly lost himself in the fight, moving, destroying and dodging with speed and agility. Tom's magic alerted him of a demon stalking him and on the verge of attacking. Charles killed the one directly in front of him and used him as a shield. With one hand he held up the surprisingly heavy demon and the other attacked the demon on his back. When he looked back to the demon he was holding as a shield he only had the head and some strips hanging off. Charles dropped the head and continued on a never-ending game of killing the demon.

It seemed that no matter how many they destroyed, more appeared. Every hole he made was filled up in a matter of seconds. Charles already knew that no matter how many they took down, they'd still be overpowered. He was counting on that.

They were pushed back and closer together as the creatures boxed them in. Seraphim, much to Charles distress, ended at arms distance. All of them kept to their guns until they overheated and even then, they changed weapons and kept going. While magic would certainly be more effective, it would be extremely taxing to start with advanced magic and unnecessary on low-level demons. The day was going to be a long one. They had to save as much as energy as possible.

When the sun was high and the smoke cleared, they ran out of useable weapons and without much option, moved to magic. In the wizards' case, wand magic since it was less tiring. Seraphim used no wand or any other focus, but Charles noticed that even he held back. They went from taking out a hundred at a time to a thousand. Hyperion chanted unrelentingly to keep up a perimeter; a moving ward that kept the creatures out but did not interfered with the magic going out. It was extremely difficult and needed all of Hyperion's concentration to keep up. Sweat covered his face and back and his lips never stopped moving.

Charles, Tom and Seraphim faced different directions and tried not to move too much. Not that they could if they wanted to, the creatures were simply everywhere and only stopped from getting closer by the barrier. The demons stepped on top of their fallen to try to reach to them with a desperation that spoke of single-minded obsession. Screaming and screeching when the ward repelled them.

In the sky, red sparks exploded. Relieved that everything was set, Charles raised his wand in the air and sent out responding blue sparks. Quickly the sky filled with red sparks.

"Now," Charles shouted to his teammates over the creatures' long, piercing screams.

Charles raised his wand and sent five consecutive green sparks. The exact moment the fifth and last spark exploded the ground opened and swallowed them half a second before several fire-less explosions with the pressing force of twenty atmospheres flattened the entire valley.

The trees were flatted to the ground, the frozen surface of the lake broke and a giant wave formed and travelled until the edge of the ward, where it crashed violently. The tens of thousands of creatures simply ceased to exist, leaving behind a black carpet of entrails.

For long seconds the ground under their feet shock and dirt rained in. They were in one of the many underground corridors that formed a maze-like structure that ran the entire valley and expanded until the mountains. It was claustrophobically small, dark and damp. Just tall enough for an average sized adult to stand and a few feet wide. The walls were reinforced steel and the floor had tracks for the rapid transport of heavy utility.

Charles landed on an awkward position on top of Hyperion, his arm was trapped underneath the man's torso and his ankle felt sprained. With a stifled groan, he moved to sit besides Hyperion on the floor. Instead of talking in an unknown, possibly dangerous, situation, Charles extended his arm to find Tom. He found a shoulder and touched what he could of the face. His hand was slapped. Weird ears and foul personality, definitely Tom.

They stayed quiet for a while, listening for possible demons that might have followed them in. Farther down, another, less cautious group lighted their wands. They were fighting and unaware of them.

"You imbecile!" the goblin exclaimed, pulling something long and sticky from his head.

"It was an accident." The werewolf explained with frustration.

"I told you UP! Up, you rock-headed, fur-impelled, flea-infested, waste of a magic!" the goblin ranted. In the low lighting his eyes glinted with rage and his hands fisted in barely supressed violence.

"If your weren't a wee, little midget you might have reached on you own."

"Why you–" _click, click, click_. The goblin roared in frustration when the gun refused to work.

"Come on, my children," the vampire's soft drawl commanded. Until now he had stayed silent in the covers of the dark and uncaring of the fight. "We have wasted enough time and they are already waiting on us." The vampire looked briefly to the corner that Seraphim was hidden. "I wish to see for myself the alleged death machines that fly."

"Next time, I'm in charge of perimeter," the werewolf said as he rounded the corner.

"Next time? Next time!?" the goblin thundered. _Click, click, click._

Charles, Hyperion and Tom lighted their wands when the group left. All of them were covered in sweat and dirt. Charles felt something touch his neck and looked back. Seraphim was gone.

"You think he's going to betray us?" Tom asked, when he saw Charles staring intently at the dark, empty passage.

"Yes… I don't know. Maybe."

"We have to move," Hyperion reminded them. "And for the record, while I don't trust him, or vampires in general, I don't think he's going to betray us." They walked forward through the dark, damp passageways with only their wands as light and went left on a fork. From then on they continued on a gradual downwards incline, always taking left.

"Why?" Tom asked as he walked and tinkered with his weapon at the same time.

Hyperion looked at Charles and looked away, "Just a hunch."

"Here," Charles stopped them. He pressed his palm to a segment of wall, no different than the rest, and a door opened. He ducked his head and entered the small alcove with dust-covered boxes. He searched through the boxes until he found one with the label: 444 virus, mutated. Untested.

"Found it," he told Tom. Tom put down the box he was holding. Charles didn't fail to see that he slipped a bottle in his robes. Hyperion pushed off the wall he was waiting and followed them out. They didn't speak the rest of the way. Eventually they reached the centre of the maze, a large, square chamber large enough to hold war tanks, trucks and aircrafts with a ceiling that extended five floors up, each floor with a rail that overlooked the centre.

One of his first investments with the initial money he had received from Hyperion had been war, even before war had started. He had many factories that supplied for the war effort in so many different countries that no one batted an eye when 'special shipments' went to various unidentified locations.

"Does your father know about this?" Hyperion questioned, looking around the large space. An underground city under the house seemed like a difficult secret to keep.

"No," Charles answered simply. "They were still recovering from their time in jail when the house was rebuilt." Anything they noticed was easily brushed away as nothing. They believed that agriculture, fishing and trade were the main source of his money. It was better that way.

The place was busy with teams entering and exiting through various locations. A large oval table on the second floor was already filled with screaming leaders. Unenthusiastically, Charles went up the stairs to join them.

"No, no, no! Level one demons cannot be killed with fire! Fiend, friendly or otherwise," an exasperated goblin said to a sweaty and grimy Cyel. The redheaded wizard looked ready to spear the goblin a cook him alive.

"I once saw a shaman banishing a demon through a portal of death in Brazil," Saman said calmly, diffusing part of the tension between the goblin and the wizard.

"Finally!" someone shouted when they saw Charles walk over.

"A bit late, aren't we?" a goblin said nastily.

"You once opened a bridge to the Realms, didn't you?" Alexander asked and without waiting for a response demanded, "Open one now."

Half of the table exploded laughing, particularly the vampire and goblin half.

"Daft wizard. You are confusing a bridge with a portal and neither can be opened at the drop of a hat," the North Goblin leader said nastily.

Alexander reddened but looked at Charles expectantly. Charles shook his head. "Even if I had all the materials," and there was no way Charles was knocking on Flamel's door again, "It would still need them to _willingly_ leave."

Charles' eyes left the table and looked around. He spotted Leandro, a vampire seven years older than Charles with blond hair and brown eyes that happened to be Leviathan's obsession. Leandro was on the lowest floor with a group of vampires. Charles frowned. He descended to the lower level and neared the group.

"Where's Leviathan?"

No one answered.

"Where's Leviathan?" he asked again with rising fury.

"On the roof," someone answered.

"On the roof?" Charles repeated, "It's been over four hours. He was supposed to arrive here with team four. Where's team four?" the last question he shouted so everyone on the lower level could hear him.

Five people stepped up, including Leandro.

"Explain," Charles demanded, his face blank.

"We thought," Leandro started with that damn smirk that made Charles want to kill him, "it would be funny to leave him there…you know, as a joke." Leandro looked at his teammates for support but found none.

"I disagreed," the only goblin in the team said. The werewolf shrugged, he had not cared one way or another. And Leandro pulled rank over the other two vampires.

"I see," Charles said calmly. There was a silence in the lower level as everyone waited to see his reaction. The day was just starting and they had not only disobeyed his orders, but disrespected him, not only putting Leviathan's life in jeopardy but everyone's'.

"Team four, you are out of the fight. Hand over your weapons and stay out of the way."

Charles turned around and walked to the stairs without saying anything else. Teams moved out of his way and no one dared to break the silence.

"But you can't!" Leandro shouted, almost gleefully, when Charles was midway through the stairs. "You don't have enough people and they outnumber us a thousand to one."

Charles stopped but didn't turn around. "Someone silence him before I decide we need live baits." Charles didn't look back to see how they interpreted his ambiguous order.

Tom watched him from the top of the stairs, his arms resting on the rail. He didn't comment but Charles knew that Tom did not approve with his decision. It was in the way he set his jaw and the tenseness around his eyes.

"We have work to do," Charles told him and dared him to comment.

"Yes, master," Tom mouthed, made mocking bow that only Charles saw and obediently moved towards the control panels. Sometimes, Charles really hated Tom. With Tom's help, Charles started to activate the security measures.

"Systems are up," Charles growled. Flat metal panels along the wall flashed white and showed what was happening outside. A few groups of creatures on the outskirts had miraculously survived but everything else had been annihilated.

"Backup wards are up," Tom said.

"The electrical bridge?" Charles questioned. The electrical bridge was the only thing that stopped every ministry in the world from knocking on their doorstep.

"Still up," Tom responded.

Charles nodded. With that done, Charles turned his attention to searching for Leviathan.

"Where are you, Levi?" he whispered. He found the signal of the black box and connected to it.

"Leviathan, can you hear me?" Charles spoke to the monitor.

"Charles?" Charles heard a small, uncertain voice respond, "Where are you? I can't see you."

"I'm speaking through the black box."

"Like a radio?" Leviathan questioned.

"…yes, like a radio," Charles responded for simplicity's sake. "Are you still on the roof?"

"Yes, where are you?"

"I need you to move from there, it's going to get dangerous very soon."

"There's no one here... Everyone left."

"Do you remember where Marianne's house was?" Charles questioned, knowing the vampire knew.

"Yes, it's not there now."

"It is, you just can't see it. Go to the location, open the door and go down to the basement. I'll meet you there as soon as I can. And Leviathan?"

"Yes?"

Charles looked at the panels where thousands of stronger demons were already gathering on the outskirts, "Hurry."

Charles took off his glasses to clean them with the underside of his shirt, when that didn't work he spat on the glass and dried it with the back of his hand. Half blind, his hand automatically came up to catch the object rushing towards him. He looked at Hyperion sitting on top of a discarded box and the metal can he had in his hand. With a grateful nod he opened it. The strong smell of alcohol made his eyes close in appreciation. It burned his mouth, throat and a pathway to his stomach. He made a disgusted face. The second one was better, so was the third.

Mid-level demons were pouring in and he didn't know if Leviathan had enough time to get out. He kept his eyes closed and hummed to distract himself from the noise. When he felt eyes on him and the silence became oppressing, he opened his eyes. The leaders had stopped fighting and were watching him. Charles sighed and threw the can back to its owner. Hyperion grabbed it effortlessly, opened it and took a long sip.

"Are you done, Mr Winter?" the south goblin leader asked with anger. "Or should we wait some more?" Charles has not met a single goblin he has liked. This one was no exception.

"No, no, don't wait for me. Please, continue with your senseless shouting," Charles replied. The goblin's face turned red with blotches of purple. "Or have any of you actually come up with a plan?" Silence. "Thought so."

Charles took the box out of his pocket and carefully set it at the table. It was small, with only a label to identify its contents. Carefully looking around he found a metal bin with a lid. He took out the crystal bottle from the box and set it inside the metal bin and closed it.

Charles looked at the werewolf that was standing of the way but listening in. The werewolf looked back and held his stare.

"Isaac, I need a ward."

"What kind of ward?" the werewolf asked warily.

"The kind that traps and destroys biological matter. I need containment."

Isaac's eyes widened slightly, "You want to release-"

"Yes," Charles interrupted, looking at Isaac sharply. "Can you do it?"

Isaac thought about it. He looked at Charles measuringly. After a moment he nodded. "It would take time."

"How much?" Charles questioned.

"Ten to Fifteen hours."

"Make it happen. Do you need anyone or can you do it alone?"

Isaac considered it. "I'll manage."

Charles nodded and turned back to the table. Seraphim was still missing.

"We need to hold out for ten to fifteen hours. Backup wards are protecting us right now but they were never meant to be permanent."

"How long till they fall?" Haraaf, the Goblin leader of the North and Charles' boss when he worked at the bank, asked.

"If Goblins reinforce them, then they should last us four more hours."

Haraaf spoke gobbledegook to another goblin. The other goblin found three other goblins and the four stood before Charles.

"My best warders, Mr Winter."

"Tom," Charles called. Tom pushed himself from the wall he had been observing from and walked forward like a lazy cat. "Take them to ward room."

They had a staring match in which Charles _dared_ Tom to disobey him so that he could have an excuse to ban him from further fights.

"Follow me, gents," Tom finally said sweetly, still looking at Charles with burning black eyes.

"Now," Harraf interrupted, gaining Charles attention, "what are we going to do to send them back in pieces?" The goblin asked, proving why the Goblin Nation was a war race.

Charles smiled, a bit viciously, pushed up his glasses, his blue eyes glinting wickedly, and declared, "I have a plan."

He felt like a child with a wicked plan to ruin Christmas.

-0-

The loud, constant noise of blades cutting through the air echoed in the enclosed space and drowned all sound. Charles crouched in the small space of what appeared like a small helicopter with a vampire, the same vampire he had seen on the underground passage, on the pilot seat. The vampire's teammates, the goblin and werewolf, were on the back cabin. Another vampire was watching them from the window.

"What this will do is create a force field, it will use half of your power so don't do it unless critical." Charles was giving both vampires a crash course in piloting the small, magical helicopter, "If you crash-"

"I will not crash," the vampire interrupted.

"Nevertheless, if you crash, you have three options. If you can control it, crash in an open field. If you can't, pull this lever, manually enter the coordinates and when close enough to the ground, push the red button. It will stop the descend, but I warn you it would do so abruptly and leave you stranded with no power." By the time he finished, his throat felt raw from screaming above the noise but he felt relatively confident that both vampires would be able to handle any situation that might arise. Charles pulled a lever and pressed a button, slowly the rotors stopped.

Charles opened the door and dropped to the floor. They were on the lowest level. The others followed him down and Charles was faced with twenty faces: eight vampires, seven goblins, two weres' and three wizards. Everyone else was looking down from the rails of the other four levels. Charles ignored everyone else and spoke only to the twenty he had in front of him, resolved to have them understand the plan.

"Ok, so this is how it's going down. The first craft will have a white powder substance. You will release the powder evenly. The second will have water. What this will do is that the power will mix with the water and create a viscous gel. Two things can happen and we learn important information from both, if the demons' skin is water based they will stick to the concoction and will be unable to move. In that case, our lawn mowers here," Charles pointed at a team besides a tank with sharp blades on its underside, "will be shortly behind to clean up the mess. It they do not stick, their skin is oil based and in that case, highly flammable. The mixture in that case will serve as kindle. I am guessing everyone can summon fire?" Charles asked and received nods.

"What else?" Charles asked himself. "Ah, do not breath in the powder, it will expand in your lungs and choke you. Now that I mention it, don't touch either, it is rather unforgiving. Doubts? No? No one?" Charles nodded and stepped back.

To the others he said, "Teams eight and ten, start with the illusion around the entrance. Team seven, I want an invisibility and silence shield around both crafts until they are high in the air. Everyone else, get out of the way."

Charles drew a rune in a solid metal wall and a view of the outside appeared. The land was full of demons of all shapes and sizes. All the characteristic landmarks, the lake, the mountains, were unrecognizable or non-existing and there was a black layer instead of the previous snowy fields. Every house, assuming they survived, was invisible as added security measure.

If everything went according to plan, they'll be back shortly without ever having to directly confront a demon yet delivering a brutal attack. It had taken time and patience to convince the leaders that it was better to send small groups and rotate teams over the next ten to fifteen hours.

Charles watched as the illusion was placed, both crafters were covered in a blanket of invisibility and the sound of the blades cutting the air was damped by strong silencing charms.

While everyone was looking up he quietly slipped away, up to the second level and down a long metal corridor. Charles stopped and looked back when he heard steps following him.

"Mr Winter?"

"Mr Volker," Charles responded evenly.

"Mind if I walk with you?"

Charles gritted his teeth but responded, "Not at all."

"Let me, Mr Winter," Volker requested, pointing at his left foot. Charles stopped and looked at Volker with a silent question.

"I am the battle and tactics professor in Durmstrang, I know when my students are hiding injuries."

Volker kneeled in front of him and, reluctantly, Charles extended his injured foot. The man ripped a strip from his outer coat, removed his boot and bandaged his ankle in what Charles felt was the most awkward silence he has ever experienced. Charles nodded shortly when the man stood up and stayed still.

"Are you, son of a farmer, the rumoured king among wizards?" Volker asked without beating around the bush.

"I'm only twelve, Mr Volker," Charles deflected, his face serious. "And as you said, I am only the son of a farmer."

"It is true, isn't?" Volker said, closing his eyes in resignation.

Charles kept the silence.

"That's what I was afraid of. I had hoped…"

"For someone other than the son of farmer?" Charles asked sharply, his posture tense and defensive.

"For someone older, more experienced…Goddess, you are just a child! Did you know what you were getting into?"

Charles remained stonily silent.

"And yes, I had hoped for someone with stronger roots to the wizarding world."

"It would have never been a pureblood," Charles snapped, in an uncharacteristic show of anger, "because all they do is sit on their arse and think the world owes them everything."

Volker looked at him steadily and Charles could easily imagine that he made an intimidating professor. "Perhaps you should strive to learn more about pureblood culture and stop being so judgemental."

After a long pause, were Charles regretted having lost his control, he agreed with a simple and noncommittal, "Perhaps."

He longed to call Volker up on his hypocritical comment, but this was neither the time nor place for such a discussion. They stared at each other for a few more moments, neither yielding.

Finally, Volker nodded, realizing that Charles wasn't going to give him more and said, "I will leave you for your walk."

Charles nodded and stood still while Volker walked away, his blood boiling. Charles breathed deeply and focused, he had a friend to help and only a limited amount of time before he was missed.

On his way up he found groups, some mixed, some not, some siting, others standing but all talking quietly. Invariably, they would stop talking and watch him pass by, some of them greeting him. Charles passed them by without paying them much mind.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he reached the trapdoor to Marianne's basement. It was dark and crowded with boxes of old, discarded toys. Charles briefly looked around and quickly climbed the stairs.

"Leviathan?" Charles called. For the first time he feared that his friend might not had made it.

* * *

><p>AN

This was long overdue and I'm sorry! I took an insane amount of classes and research hours this semester that left me physically and mentally drained. Lesson learned: if people look at you with pity or wonder if you are crazy after you tell them your course schedule, take it to heart, it's too much. I'm extremely nervous about positing this late. I had to redo this chapter sooo many times. I literally wrote the beginning twenty times over and everything always felt wrong. I am finally, not happy, but pleased about how it turned out. This is only the first part because it was too long. So…hope you liked it and review. Thank you so much for the people that poked me from time to time to get it done (and to ask if I was still alive) !

**Review with thoughts, ideas, suggestions, corrections, or just to help me reach 1k+ ;) I'm not particularly picky about it. **

Btw, I still struggle with the language so don't be afraid to point out mistakes so I can learn.


	46. Chapter 46: Symphony

Chapter 46

"_The best weapon against an enemy is another enemy." - Friedrich Nietzsche_

**Last Chapter, **

_He breathed a sigh of relief when he reached the trapdoor to Marianne's basement. It was dark and crowded with boxes of old, discarded toys. Charles briefly looked around and quickly climbed the stairs._

_"Leviathan?" Charles called. For the first time he feared that his friend might not had made it._

Everything was cold and untouched. The very air was stale. The basement led to the living room; it had an old, red armchair, a rickety rocking chair, a stuffed couch, and a fireplace with a mantel and a cross on top. Everything was old but well taken care of. Charles passed the empty living room and entered the small kitchen. It smelled like bread and smoke. The wallpaper was cream with flowers. Smoke from burning wood had darkened and in some places, complete obscured the flowers.

A wooden table with scratch marks stood in the center of the room. It was covered with pots and pans, knives and an onion cut in half. Sacs of rice and corn in one corner and in another stood the bread oven. A small toy soldier lay forgotten on the floor. Charles walked around the wooden table, his fingers tracing the paths on the surface as he looked around the small room. The fireplace was cold and the kettle on the stove was half-full with icy water.

He exited the kitchen through a second door that led to a dark hallway. He passed without seeing the familiar portraits of Marianne and her son. One had the whole 'family' under the old tree that he and Tom had burned down that summer. He reached the front of the house and peeked through a window.

His nose twitched at the smell of dust from the thick, dark curtain. It was close to midday but the outside sky was grey and blood red. It looked like the kind of sky Charles would expect to see if there were wards that needed human sacrifice in place. He remembered his conversation with Isaac about the sudden rise of mysterious deaths in recent months and wondered if there was a connection.

The grounds were black from the previous massacre. But already there were hundreds of undistinguishable dark shapes as far as the eye could see, some as tall as the house, walking aimlessly.

Charles let the curtain fall and moved to the stairs, one hand on his wand and the other on a small handgun. The first step creaked loudly. Charles stopped and listened, when it seemed that nothing was coming to attack him he stepped on the second step. Half way up, the cupboard door opened with a loud screech. Immediately, his arm was up and pointing. Slowly, he walked backwards, keeping his back to the wall. When he was close enough, he tried to see through the penetrating darkness and inside the cupboard.

"Leviathan?" he whispered, hoping, his finger on the trigger.

_Sniff_. "Charles?" a tentative voice asked.

"It's me," Charles responded warily, still aiming.

"What took you so long?" Something that _sounded_ like Leviathan responded.

Charles took a step forward and lighted his wand, trying to see beyond the penetrating darkness. All he could see was that the floor of the cupboard had been destroyed and a deep, dark hole where the floorboards used to be.

"When was the last time I fed my owl?" Charles asked with a frown, his wand glowing green. No one answered. His arm trembled, the start of the spell on his lips.

"Answer me, Leviathan," Charles demanded sharply.

"…you never feed your owl," Charles detected hesitation and a slight accusation in the tone, "the poor thing survives by hunting."

Charles took another step forward. He looked around, but the room was still otherwise empty. He took his finger off the trigger.

"When is my girlfriend's, Sally, birthday?"

"…"

"Answer me!" Charles demanded sharply.

Charles saw the blue shine of a protective ward activating.

"Damn it," Charles cursed.

It was easy to recognize it since it was _his_ protective ward activating from _his_ black box. It had also masked Leviathan's presence; the reason Charles hadn't been able to find him at first glance.

"The _real_ Charles would know that Sally was my turtle," Leviathan accused.

Charles lowered his arm and approached the cupboard.

"It's me, you idiot," Charles said, but stopped at the edge of the ward. He had created it, but the only person who could deactivate it was the person inside.

"Oh, yeah? What color were my alternative robes for tonight?!"

"…"

"How the hell would I know?" Charles asked, perplexed. "I don't even remember the color of the robes you _wore_, let alone the ones you didn't."

After a moment of silence,"…yeah, it's you," Leviathan conceded. "An imposter would have been better prepared, not knowing you are dense as a rock when it comes to fashion."

The ward dropped and Charles was finally able to get close. Charles' wand lighted the small room with a bright white light. He looked inside hole; it was at least five feet deep. Leviathan looked away from the bright light and his hand came up to cover his eyes. The vampire sat there with his knees touching his face and his arms hugging his knees. With a dirty hand and bloody fingernails, the vampire cleaned his tears. Charles crouched besides the hole.

"Come out," he told the vampire.

Leviathan looked down and away, looking pitiful and downtrodden. Charles sighed.

"Charles, he never came to get me," Leviathan said in a small voice, no louder than a whisper.

Charles exhaled loudly, looking up at the ceiling. He prayed for patience. Like always, no one answer his prayers "We don't have time for this. We've wasted enough as it is. _Get out_."

Leviathan did not appear to have heard him. "Did he not see me?" the vampire asked Charles, looking up, his eyes teary. "I thought he did…" he looked down at his bloody hands, "but maybe he didn't."

"Oh, for the love of…! Leviathan," Charles said sharply, his voice terse, "We don't have time for this," he repeated. "We need to leave. _Now_."

Leviathan cleaned his tears and nodded but held his knees tighter. Charles looked around; the house was still empty. He sighed in defeat and sat.

"He's trash," Charles said harshly, his eyes flashing with anger. "Not worth the air he breathes."

Leviathan' shoulders shook and he hid his face even deeper. Charles waited a few seconds.

"Charles, he looked right at me," Leviathan looked up at Charles, heartbroken. "_He looked right at me_," the vampire repeated, his voice breaking, "…and left." Charles stayed silent and the vampire continued.

"Maybe he didn't recognize me? Maybe he thought I was one of the demons…?" Leviathan asked with some hope in his eyes, as if he truly believed it was some kind of awful mistake.

"He saw you," Charles said with renewed anger, crushing Leviathan's hopes and making the vampire flinch. Charles rubbed his forehead in agitation, more softly and without any malice, he repeated, "He saw you," trying to make Leviathan _see_.

Without able to excuse it away or escape into fantasy land, Leviathan broke. His whole frame crumbled and he trembled with barely suppressed sobs. Charles felt a mixture of anger, urgency and awkwardness. He wanted to leave. Now. Both from the conversation and the dangerous situation. He forced himself to wait, to be patient and sensitive to the vampire's pain. It was not working. He looked around one more time; they were still alone.

"Do you hate him?" Charles asked after Leviathan calmed.

"No. Never. I could never hate him," Leviathan responded sincerely.

"A pity," Charles lamented. He stood up and looked down, "Come on, get out of there." Still no movement. "Don't force me to drag you out; I won't do it nicely," Charles threatened.

Finally, Leviathan unrolled himself and stood up. He looked beaten. His eyes were red and swollen, his pale complexion blotchy and dirt covered his skin.

_God, he was a terrible friend_, Charles thought with some remorse. Tom had not prepared him to the nuisances of helping a friend deal with emotional trauma. Tom broke down every two or three years and it often ended quickly and he was back to his usual bastard self within moments.

"Here," Charles said brusquely. He fished out a small, crystal turtle from one of his pockets and shoved it in Leviathan's direction. "It was supposed to be a Christmas present…" _but you need it now_, went unsaid. Leviathan took the small present, no bigger than the palm of his hand, turned it around and read the inscription:

_In loving memory of Sally, the best turtle a vampire could ask for_.

Leviathan hugged the turtle to his chest, his head bowed and his dirty, lanky hair covering his face. He sniffed. "Thanks," Leviathan croaked. He looked up frowning, "You had it on you?" Leviathan asked.

Charles shrugged, slightly uncomfortable. "I didn't think I was going see you until January; I was going to give it to you at the party… but forgot."

"Thanks," Leviathan said, "for this…and everything."

Charles nodded stiffly and hoped that was the end of the conversation. He moved out of the cupboard to allow Leviathan to drag himself out. The vampire stumbled out, shuffled a bit and stood up.

"Where are you hurt?" Charles asked, looking at Leviathan critically. Charles planned to stifle the worst but he was prepared to drag the vampire if it was the only way to get him to safety.

Leviathan looked down at himself; his best robes were dirty and torn. Leviathan had half a mind to make a joke but felt too miserable to even try.

"I'm not," Leviathan said simply.

"You are not?" Charles' demanded with alarm. Leviathan felt Charles' alarm rise and boil. Charles walked over to the windows and looked out. "Did someone hear about our plans?" Charles asked sharply.

"I don't think so," the vampire said with a frown.

"Were you stopped?" Charles dropped the curtain and, without turning his back to the door, backed away, pushing Leviathan to move to the basement stairs at the back of the house. "Leviathan, answer me! Were you stopped on your way here?" Charles demanded sharply, still pushing Leviathan back.

"…no," Leviathan finally admitted. But Charles wasn't listening; he was pushing the vampire down the stairs and to the basement with one hand while the other pointed a gun to the door.

"Move! Move! Open the trapdoor and get in. Now, Leviathan!"

Leviathan reached the hatch and pulled, it didn't budge. "It won't open," Leviathan explained.

Charles faced the entrance. "Forget it, it's too late. It won't open," he said. A door opened on the second floor. Charles looked at the ceiling and then at the basement entrance. Steps could be heard. The creak from the first step of the staircase sounded three times.

"What do you mean it's too late?!" Leviathan cried, desperately pulling and looking at the stairs in fear.

"Security measure," Charles explained. "The place has been compromised."

"I don't feel very secure!" Leviathan cried in rising desperation. Abruptly the vampire shut up and whimpered when the steps neared. The outline of a person appeared at the top of the stairs and the steps creaked as the demon slowly made his way down, two more demons followed him down, as graceful as shadows. Charles backed away from the stairs, his back to Leviathan as he pushed the vampire behind him and to the wall, as far away from the demons as they could get.

The first demon, the _apparent_ leader, had blond, almost white, hair, black eyes, and had an ageless quality to him. He looked human, just like the demons behind him. Not the awkward attempts of the other, less powerful demons, but human down to the lashes. But only a fool wouldn't notice the emptiness of their eyes and their mechanical movements. It was hard to discern gender; they all had an androgynous quality to their features and their clothes were bland and functional. It was not as if mattered; demons who could change shape had no reason to claim any one gender.

Behind the blond and a few steps back, was what Charles knew, the _true_ leader. The demon's face and features were shrouded in darkness. But Charles could _feel_ the demon's eyes touching, probing, _tasting_ him. He shivered. Besides the blond was a redhead with equally dark eyes regarding Charles as his next meal. Charles averted his eyes. It was like looking at a bottomless well.

"Thank you, little vampire, for all of your cooperation but you have outlasted your use," the red-headed said, his face cold and perfect. Leviathan whimpered. The demon raised his palm, a red glowing mass steadily growing in it. Charles took a step to the right and stood protectively in front of Leviathan.

"Calm, brother," the shadow demon said, his voice as shapeless as his body.

"Yes, brother," the blond said with a wicked smile, "we do not want the party to be over _too_ soon."

"A human with a pet vampire," the red-headed demon mocked, anger at being stopped evident in his voice, "my, my, how things have fallen for the vampires," he commented with a sharp smile.

Neither vampire nor human commented. The vampire's smile fell and the room grew warmer.

"Are you in the habit of letting the door open to wicked things?" the blond demon asked with a smile in the following silence. Smoke came out of the demon's mouth as he spoke and curled around his smile before disappearing. An ice demon, Charles guessed. He took a leap of faith and assumed they were _all_ powerful enough to be elemental demons. If there was a time to worry, it was now.

Leviathan tensed at the question and at Charles' continued silence.

"And who might be knocking on my door?" Charles queried back, as if he wasn't talking with high-level demons that he had no idea how to destroy. Charles' eyes scanned the other demons and possible exits.

"Guess," the blond said with a playful smile. Charles unconsciously took a step back.

_Stall, stall, stall_, Charles mind begged him.

"It's a mighty long list and I'm no expert... but I would say," Charles looked at the blond and studied the demon. A powerful ice demon. There was one ice demon in wizard history that stood out.

"_Abaddon_," Charles guessed, testing his luck. The name felt like a curse on his lips. The blond nodded regally, a small smile still playing on his lips. _Well, shit._ Charles licked his lips. Brother, the demon had said, meaning equals. If he was Abaddon, then that would make…

"So you know me," the demon answered with a pleased smile.

"Your reputation precedes you."

Charles looked at the red-head. Hoping he was wrong, he said, "_Hades_," a fire demon, the most powerful of them all, "and," Charles looked at the blurry figure, a shadow demon, a shiver ran down his small frame, "_Amon_," he whispered the name. The demon that had almost ended humanity. History was vague on how he was 'vanquished' the first time around. Charles was willing to bet the demon had never been vanquished, only retreated.

-0-

From the moment the demons started speaking Leviathan felt Charles feed him emotions. The names meant very little to Leviathan so he concentrated on the emotions he was receiving. A calmness that said, _Wait for it. _And at last, he felt Charles' magic tense and expand, until_,_ abruptly, he felt a heart stopping,_ Now! _ An explosion sounded and magic more powerful than anything Leviathan had ever felt pushed the demons to the side and to the wall. The impact broke the very foundation of the house and left the previously blocked path to the stairs, cleared.

With a rush of emotion, Leviathan suddenly understood his purpose. He grabbed Charles around the middle, bruising and almost breaking the boy's ribs in the process, and rushed to the stairs, running so fast the world blurred. Every door and wall blocking their way exploded as Charles made a direct path for them. Leviathan did not look back as he ran.

Finally, passing the last barrier they made it outside. The outside, if possible, was worst than the inside. Last time, it had been empty of demons. Leviathan now knew it had been on purpose; he had been used to set up a trap. But now hundreds of demons, mostly low-level, swarmed the grounds. As one, all the demons turned to look at the commotion. Leviathan only had a second to swear before running as fast as he could, making the world blur around them. With delight, the demons gave chase. Leviathan sobbed as he ran with no direction.

Charles changed positions; his legs now circled Leviathan's middle and one arm around Leviathan's neck for balance while the other attacked and defended with quick, savage spells. Leviathan felt his neck prickle with the proximity of the strong, dark magic Charles wielded to hold off the demons and give them more time.

"_Oh, boy. Oh boy. Oh boy_," Leviathan chanted as he ducked from an incoming spear of ice. It caught the tail end of his robe and turned it into shimmering dust. Leviathan turned sharply, his feet sliding on the blackened mud, and ran the opposite direction from a fifteen-foot demon. The ground trembled with each of the giant's step.

"_Oh, boy. Oh boy. Oh boy_." The severed head of the fifteen-foot demon rolled towards them after Charles cut it. The magic had burned his ear and small electric shocks made his fingers twitch. "_Oh, boy. Oh boy__**. **__Oh boy_," Leviathan sobbed as he ran. The redhead demon stood in front of them, throwing black masses of _something_ that Charles blocked from reaching them. The boy trembled from the effort. The previous three demons stood in front of them. It quickly became apparent that it was useless to run from them; they were faster than Leviathan and a human like Charles had no chance of outrunning them. Leviathan closed his eyes, put Charles on the floor, hugged him close and waited for death to arrive. Tears running freely down his face. He did not want to die this way.

When Leviathan opened his eyes again the severed head of the red head was at his feet. He screamed and backed away. He tripped and almost fell. Charles was mad at him for closing his eyes in a fight and screaming at him to run. He couldn't hear the exact words but got the overall 'feeling' of it. Leviathan picked the boy up and ran. He ran one way only to stop and run the other way. Like a headless chicken, he continued to stumble through. It was useless; they were surrounded and outnumbered. He felt hopeless and the only thing that prevented his complete collapse was Charles.

Charles that was standing protectively in front of him, feeling in complete control of the situation, like he had planned for all of this to happen, which was absurd, but it was the only way Leviathan could explain the calmed, controlled confidence feeling with a dash of excitement at the challenge.

One demon, blond and tall was headed directly at them, his hands shinning with ice and his eyes black as midnight. Another one, dark and foreboding, twisted the shadows around them. The red head was back on his feet again, a large, jagged scar around his neck as the only reminder that his head had been rolling in the dirt not ten minutes ago; he looked pissed. Leviathan wanted to apologize in the hopes of a quick, merciful death. Not far behind, five fifteen feet tall demons with horns thundered their way. And behind them, an army of demons.

Charles' eyes turned white as he chanted and demonstrated why he was considered a class of his own. One moment they were in the middle of a battle and in the other they were in the middle of a tornado of black, destructive magic that Charles called and controlled (or it called and controlled Charles, it was hard to tell). Leviathan trembled at the sheer evilness that radiated off the magic. It was not normal. It was not the magic he was used to. Charles' voice was unrecognizable. It did not sound human, much less like his friend. It was like a blend of old Latin and the original language of magic, something harsh and hoarse and violent. Not something meant to be heard, much less uttered.

And suddenly, Leviathan was willing to take his chances with the demons, the lesser of the two evils. The weight of the crystal turtle on his pocket reminded Leviathan that he was in the presence of a friend not an enemy. Charles' hands and arms were white and blurred as he raised them, and with them the ground rose.

And everything turned to chaos.

Charles' mouth twitched as he suppressed a smile. Magic, old and raw, rose from the very earth. So potent it was visible. It was touchable. It was there. A being that felt like death and destruction and chaos. And like tsunami, it gathered and gathered until with a push of Charles' arms, it descended on the army of demons. And Leviathan stood in the middle of it all. He didn't remember when he started screaming, or when he stopped, he just knew that he lost his voice. Possibly his mind and sanity as well. Because there was no way he could survive it. And certainly not intact.

When he was on the verge of madness, a small, delicate hand grabbed his and everything stopped, even time, as he was trapped in a vacuum where he could see what was happening but he was not a part of it. He turned to see the angelic face of his friend and smiled a little to show he was ok. Charles smiled back with a pureness that was unholy for a being as destructive as him. Charles turned back to see the destruction they had left and Leviathan closed his eyes in exhaustion.

After some or no time at all, sound rushed back in. Leviathan opened his eyes. There were no more demons blocking their way. Charles sagged and convulsed. Leviathan held him by the shoulders. When Charles came to a moment later, he coughed blood. Leviathan cradled Charles to chest and held his head up, his clothes and skin burning where it touched Charles.

Leviathan was fighting every instinct that told him to dump Charles and run as far and as fast as he could. That _the thing_ he was holding in his arms was not his friend but something evil. Something to be feared and hated and shunned. Too powerful to be allowed to exist.

Luckily, Leviathan had never been one to follow his instincts and he wasn't going to start now. Charles was his friend, he reminded himself firmly. His _only_ friend. Scary as hell, but the only one willing to fight an army of demons to save him. Leviathan looked around. The number of demons had dwindled dramatically but they were by no means destroyed. Strangely, none of the demons tried to approach them.

A strange sound made Leviathan look to the blood red sky.

"Run," Charles whispered and coughed more blood. "_Run_," he insisted when Leviathan stood still, watching the weird machines dump dust and water.

"It's only dust and water." Leviathan remarked; his newly healed vocal cords itched, his mind felt numb, like it was full of cotton; it was a strange feeling, not entirely unwelcomed.

"I made that dust," Charles rasped, his body light and unresponsive in Leviathan's hands. That response cut through the cotton-like feeling and dumped Leviathan unceremoniously back into reality. With renewed strength, Leviathan ran as if hell itself was following him. Because anything that Charles made was worth running away from.

Demons jumped out of their way. The only three that looked human stared from afar and did not try to get near again. A-something, Hades and another A-something-but-shorter, Leviathan forgot the exact names, but the creepy eyes were unmistakable.

The noise of the flying machines overpowered every other noise. The demons finally caught up with the fact that the dust was somehow bad for them and started running. Leviathan felt them slowly gaining up on him. Soon it would not be the dust they would have to worry about, but being trampled on by a herd of demons.

"We can't outrun them. We have to hide." Charles' voice was so weak that if Leviathan hadn't been a vampire he wouldn't have heard him.

Leviathan looked around in desperation, there was nowhere to hide. He laid a bleeding and tired Charles on the floor and did what came naturally to him; he dug a hole, pushed Charles in, got in and covered it.

Once they were entombed, Charles dragged himself into a sitting position.

"The box?" he asked Leviathan. Leviathan pulled out the black box out of his pocket and handed it over to Charles. Charles pushed a few buttons and the earth around them glowed. They felt as the magic covered and protected them in their small bubble. Immediately after it was done, Charles sagged back. For some time their harsh breathing was the only sound in the small, handmade cave. It was deep enough that no light filtered through and sound was muted. Leviathan's fingers were bleeding profusely once more.

The hole was only big enough for one person and the feeling of being buried alive made Charles choke in fear. Charles made himself as small as possible in order to not touch the dirt around him, an impossible task. Soon, panic and exhaustion clouded his mind. He wanted to claw himself out of the ground and feel the sun on his face. The desperation to breathe fresh air chocked him. When he felt his magic respond to his panic, he knew he was seconds away from losing it. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply and imagined himself to be in his room, with the lights off. Safe.

Slowly, the panic abated, yet he did not open his eyes. Charles concentrated on his injuries, his fatigue and Leviathan's comforting presence besides him. He was not alone, he was not buried, _he was safe_. He made himself believe it. Drowsiness pulled him down and he wanted nothing more than to fall asleep. To fall asleep and wake up on his bed. The only thing that stopped him was the certainty that if he fell asleep now he would die. They will both die. In here. Charles searched his pocket until his fingers closed around a small crystal bottle. He took it out and searched for another, more tubular bottle. He tossed the second one to Leviathan and took the cap off the first one.

"Cheers," he said, before downing the potion in one go. Immediately he felt fire spread through his veins. Charles made a face as the strange sensation passed.

"Your mother had been so proud at you for quitting..." Leviathan said regretfully.

"What's one more disappointment?" Charles asked, his voice raspy and tired.

Leviathan sighed and opened his own bottle. The underside of the cap had three spikes. Leviathan turned the cap the other way and secured the cap again with the spikes out. Leviathan raised his left arm, already doted with many triangle-shaped, three-point scars, and stabbed himself. The liquid in the bottle disappeared through his veins and when he took it out, it created another three-point scar to his collection. Hunger, fatigue and his injuries vanished as if they had never existed.

A moment of, not peace, but familiarity passed between them. A small light hovered between them.

"I should take this moment to confess something," Leviathan said, making himself comfortable. Charles opened his tired eyes and looked at Leviathan.

"Don't be mad," Leviathan warned Charles, his hand nervously picking at the charred hem of his robe, it had been one of his best, "but I have been talking to your mother... Every Tuesday."

Charles' eyes narrowed. Leviathan studiously avoided eye contact.

"About," Charles stopped and coughed, unable to stop. He cleared his throat and tried again, "About what?"

"Oh, you know. Things. You, relationships, love, you."

"You've been spying on me and reporting to _my mother_?" Charles rasped, glaring at Leviathan.

"Spying is such a harsh word, Charles. We've been _chatting_. We chat. You shouldn't look at me like that. Besides your own brother does the exact same thing and you never say anything about it."

"Tom is a _barely_ functioning sociopath that's one excuse away from becoming a tyrannical evil overlord. I _expect_ Tom to sell me to the highest bidder. What's your excuse?" The more they talked, the more Charles felt like they were really in his room, fighting about something inconsequential instead of buried alive. Charles relaxed, as much as he could relax with a rock pocking his back. Charles knew they were talking for his own benefit as well as for Leviathan's. It helped them cope. With the moment, with what happened and with what was going to happen.

"My excuse is," Leviathan defended, "that your mother gives _really_ good relationship advice. She really knows about life and love."

"Really?" Charles asked with a raised eyebrow. He doubted it was the only reason.

"...And she can also be really scary when she wants to be. She's a lot like you, actually."

"She's nothing like me. I would never spy on family," Charles defended. "Except for Tom," Charles amended quickly, "And maybe Martha, but it's only for their own good."

"That's some high morals for someone that spies on the rest of the world," Leviathan said pointedly.

Charles grunted and refused to respond. After a moment of silence, "And I give great relationship advice," Charles defended with an insulted tone.

"Telling me to kill him, offering to kill him and giving me torture devices 'just in case I change my mind' is _not_ relationship advice."

"It's _great_ relationship advice. The only one in your case, I'm afraid. He should be killed in as torturous manner as possible... The offer is still on the table, you know… if you want to. I would do it, gleefully."

"I know you would," Leviathan said, feeling strangely touched, "And I'm grateful for the well-meaning offer, however disturbing and unneeded it is–"

"Shhh," Charles silenced him. "Do you hear that?" Charles pressed his ear to the earth.

"Hear what?" Leviathan asked, he was re-growing his ear canal and his hearing was limited at the moment. The ground trembled as something heavy and loud passed on top of them. It happened a few more times before the noise dimmed. Whatever it was, it was leaving.

"I think is time to leave," Charles said.

"Leave?" Leviathan's eyes widened in panic, "No, no, no. We should stay _here_. We are safe _here_."

"You don't understand; our only chance of getting back in is entering with the teams. Otherwise, we are stuck outside."

"Can't you open it? It's your house!"

"No. Security measure."

"What kind of security measure are those?!"

"The kind that protects the majority over the individuals."

Leviathan felt the panic attack starting; his breathing accelerated, his pupils dilated and he felt dizzy. "No, no, no. Please no," Leviathan begged, his voice cracking.

Leviathan felt two small hands grabbing his face and flinched. The hands stayed where they were and slowly but surely the panic abated as a fabricated feeling of calmness washed over him. When hois breathing normalized, the feeling changed to one of acceptance, boldness and surety that everything will turn out fine.

"How do you know?" Leviathan asked, his eyes hazy and confused. _How do you know everything will turn out fine? It won't. It never does._

"I will make sure of it," Charles answered seriously, looking at Leviathan in the eyes. "I came here for you and I'm leaving with you. Do you hear me? We are going to get back."

Leviathan nodded.

"Are you ready?" Charles asked.

"Yes."

Charles took down the wards. Leviathan moved to dig them out, but Charles stopped him.

"Wait, we can't go out like that, we'll be trapped in the sludge."

"Then what?"

-0-

"Aaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" Leviathan screamed as they flew in the air, dirt raining around them. When the light hit the air directly below them, scales became visible, as if they were on top of a giant, invisible reptile.

The sun was up and high, shinning over the wards and bathing everything red. The air tasted like ashes and the ground bellow was saturated with a cream-colored paste. The screams of the demons pierced the air as they fought to get out of the sticky substance. Giant tank-like machines roamed the grounds, leaving destruction on its wake. And on the air, metal birds flew in circles, no longer discharging its cargo.

"Hold on!" Charles screamed, his voice getting lost in the air.

"Why?" Leviathan screamed back. Suddenly, they were on a dive. Like never before, Leviathan screamed, burning through his vocals once more. Charles screamed as well, but it was a joyous noise. The dive ended a few seconds away from crashing as they leveled with the ground. Charles conjured a rope and with dexterity knotted it and threw it. To Leviathan's horror, he trapped a mid-level demon and handed the rope to Leviathan to hold. He repeated the process three times before the machines killed the rest of the trapped demons.

"Look," Leviathan shouted and pointed in the distance. Something small, most likely a goblin, had fallen from the mechanical bird and was steadily falling from a height he wouldn't be able to survive.

They turned sharply and headed as fast as they could, but it was obvious they wouldn't get there in time. They were simply too far away.

"No!" Leviathan cried in desperation when Charles simply jumped. Jumped to nothing, there was nothing to catch him and Charles was too far away to reach the goblin in time. Mid flight, Charles disappeared and appeared right next to the goblin.

Charles grabbed the goblin by the upper bicep with all of his strength. Their speeds were vastly different; Charles heard a snap as goblin's arm dislocated and fractured and Charles was pulled down to even higher speeds. Charles held on to the broken arm, knowing that letting go meant certain death for the goblin.

Too late to gradually lower their speed and knowing that at this point, landing on anything, even water, would be suicidal.

Closing his eyes and briefly praying, Charles apparated them directly on top of the opened compartment. The last of the tank was just entering. They passed the entrance in a blur and kept falling…and falling, but the floor never got nearer. Charles breathed out in relief and laughed. They were slowing down. Still falling like they were in a perpetual drop but gradually slowing. It was a trick Tom had learned long ago, when he discovered Charles tendency to jump to his death.

Eventually, Charles and the goblin dropped to the floor at a more manageable speed. Charles' knees buckled when they hit the concrete floor but his laughter didn't abate, it intensified. He helped the injured goblin up and handed him over to be checked with a smile still on his face.

"Thanks, Tom," Charles said to Tom with a big smile. Tom looked down from the railing on the second floor, his face deadly serious and did not reply.

Charles looked around for Leviathan. He frowned when he couldn't find the vampire. He looked up and the closing compartment door. Charles closed his eyes, searched for active magic with his signature and _pulled_ the magic back to him. He heard Leviathan's screams long before the vampire appeared, gripping at the manifestation of his magic like a lifeline, looking scared out of his wits and still holding the ropes he had charged him with. The door closed and the manifestation disappeared, leaving Leviathan with three trapped demons to tumble down the rest of the way. Charles stopped him from crashing the floor and left the vampire panting on the floor. Gravity helped the demons. And if the landing was a little rough, it was only to be expected.

For the first time, Charles noticed how silent the room was. He looked around. Everyone was watching him. His mind buzzed from the high of magic and it took him longer than it should to find the reason. He had left the monitors activated and everyone had watched what had transpired outside. But still. They had known he was powerful… hadn't they?

Charles looked around; no one met his eyes. The werewolves had their heads down. The goblins looked everywhere but at him. Most of the vampires had disappeared from one moment to another.

Charles looked up at Tom questioningly but received no response. Tom's face worried Charles. It was blank. Out of the corner of his eye, Charles noticed a blur moving towards him, too fast for his eye to discern who or what it was. Before it reached him, Seraphim intercepted it. The noise of tearing flesh and bone breaking filled the room. Seraphim was left standing with the vampire's head on one hand. The meaty '_thud_' of the lifeless body hitting the floor followed.

Charles looked down at himself, for the first time wondering if _he_ was the problem. He was covered from head to toe in dirt; his clothes were torn, barely hanging from his thin frame. His white skin was marred with red. He had scratches that were slowly dripping blood. And his magic had yet to settle.

"Maybe you should go and clean up," Seraphim suggested, his eyes were completely dilated; he looked seconds away from losing control. The rest of the vampires that had stayed behind were quickly reconsidering their decision.

Charles nodded shortly, his insides going still. He stepped forward and everyone stepped back. He walked towards the stairs and everyone parted, some even tripped in their hurry.

His face didn't betray his feelings and he quickly climbed the stairs and walked towards Tom. He hesitated when he neared Tom. Seeing his hesitation, and somehow correctly interpreting it, met him halfway and clasped his hand strongly, the other one going to his shoulder. Charles' shoulders relaxed. For a moment he had feared Tom's reaction. In that moment, they understood each other perfectly and no words were needed. Leviathan might be his friend, but Tom was his brother. Tom would never fear him, would never shun him, would never leave him. He could trust that.

Tom refused to let go of his hand, so Charles tugged him to the back.

"I brought you test subjects," Charles told Tom, smiling shyly, magic still singing in his veins and affecting his mood (as well as destroying his organs and slowly weakening him).

"I told you I wanted _human_ test subjects," Tom responded, guiding Charles to a small storage room on the second floor.

"And I went above and beyond, I brought you _demons_. And not the cheap ones either," Charles joked, falling to their usual banter.

"Is that…is that the reason you went out?" Tom asked with uncharacteristic uncertainly, his step faltering.

Charles shrugged. "Aren't you happy with my gift?" he asked, evading the question all together.

"Of course," Tom said, his tone smooth and silky, back to his usual self. Charles sighed in resignation and prepared himself for the inevitable fight that would commence once they were alone. It was like living with a jealous spouse. A homicidal jealous spouse.

The door closed and much to Charles surprise, Tom didn't start shouting. Tom pointed at small table. Understanding what he wanted, Charles sat on top of it and waited. Tom tore the shirt off his back and calmly observed the damage. He swore in various languages looking livid. Charles looked down, he looked worse than he felt, and he felt pretty shabby. Black, purple and green bands circled his waist where Leviathan had grabbed him and hauled him like a rag doll.

"Tom?" Charles called softly. Tom was looking at a particularly brutal hand mark, his body shaking in fury. Charles was sure it was not the physical injury he had suffered Tom was mad about. He had received many injuries through the years, many much worse.

"For a vampire?" Tom spat with distaste. "A stupid, worthless vampire that his own team condemned to death," Tom seethed. "You would risk your life, our life, everything we have done and for what!?"

"For a friend," Charles said, knowing he was making things worse.

"A friend?" Tom asked, his face going from fury to blank from one second to another.

"I'm going to kill him," Tom said softly, matter-of-factly.

Charles expelled all the air from his lungs loudly and breathed in. He closed his eyes and waited until magic no longer clouded his mind. He tugged Tom's hand until Tom was close enough for his nose to touch Tom's nose. Tom was taller, so even with Charles on top of a table they were at eye level.

Tom's lips thinned; he hated being manipulated this way but at the same time he could do nothing about it. Tom breathed in and tasted raw magic, his eyes dilated and his blood sang. Tom would not take a single step back until he was pushed.

"I went through a lot of trouble to keep the vampire alive," Charles said slowly, looking at Tom in the eyes. "I'll be …_angry_ if you kill him."

"You'll get over it eventually," Tom responded, his lips twisting in a confident smirk. "You always forgive me," Tom reminded Charles, "No matter what I do."

"Don't test me, Tom," Charles warned seriously, his blue eyes flashing with anger.

"Are you going to let _a vampire_ come in between us?"

"Are _you_?" Charles parried.

Tom stayed silent, mulling that over.

"You promised not to have any more friends if I did not kill Abraxas," Tom eventually said.

"I lied," Charles said. Tom's face turned livid. "Get over it."

Tom turned it over in his head. "Does this mean I _can_ kill Abraxas?"

Charles looked at him flatly, his magic flashed but Tom didn't even blink over it. Others would have stepped back; Tom stepped forward. Charles pushed him away. He stumbled but regained his balance quickly.

"Are you purposely being obtuse? Do you _really_ want to fight me over this?" Charles asked him, his disbelief evident. "_Now?_ In the middle of a war with demons? This is like nirvana for you, why aren't you dancing with joy?"

Tom's face was petulant. "I don't like how you protect the Empath. Or how the leech king watches you. Or how the others vie for your attention. You are _mine_. And I don't share."

Charles was left speechless. He opened and closed his mouth a few times.

"You truly are a selfish bastard. A cocky one at that," Charles eventually responded, laughing in disbelief. He grabbed Tom's arm when Tom turned to leave in anger. "But you are MY selfish bastard. And I'm pretty possessive as well."

"Are you?" Tom asked challengingly.

"Very," Charles told Tom seriously. "But brothers do not betray each other. And killing someone I consider a friend is a betrayal. Are we brothers, Tom?"

Tom looked away but nodded tersely. Charles pushed Tom's face so that he was looking into his eyes. "Are we clear?" Charles repeated.

"Yes," Tom answered with anger.

"Now, be useful and patch me up," Charles demanded.

Plans of murder not forgotten but pushed back for another day, Tom took a step back and dropped water on top of Charles. Charles spluttered and cried at the sudden cold.

"Why!" Charles cried, his face that of a betrayed puppy.

"You smell, Charles," Tom's face was wicked. It was payback, Charles was sure. The water ran brown. He truly was filthy. Slowly and with a care one would not associate with a sociopath, Tom went over all of his injuries. Almost all of them were superficial but a few were deep enough to warrant care. At some point, Charles fell asleep and woke up to a slap in the face.

"Come on, you promised me test subjects."

Feeling disoriented, Charles nodded. He noticed that he was clean and dressed in different clothes, not that he expected something different. They say a sociopath could not feel love for anyone but himself. And in part that was true. Tom treated him as an extension of himself, as an extra leg or arm he did not like other people touching. But like everything, Charles felt it was a spectrum, not defined lines.

Charles rubbed his face in the hopes of waking.

"Yeah, let's go," Charles agreed tiredly. Tom made for the door but Charles grabbed him, dragged him back and hugged him in silent gratitude. Tom huffed in annoyance but let it happen. It made Charles happy to express his feelings. And Tom always took whatever excuse to be near and steal magic. With a squeeze, Charles let him go.

Charles jumped out of the table and they left.

This time Charles was prepared for people jumping out of his way and ignored it.

"Where are my demons?" Charles asked. The werewolf pointed without ever lifting his head. He felt Tom's hand on his shoulder, pushing him forward. He let himself be pushed. It annoyed Charles something fierce when people refused to look at him when he talked. Almost as much as when people talked down to him.

He opened the door with much more force than was necessary. To the credit of the people in the room they did not jump or move away from him. But he was neither insulted nor looked with exasperation, which was enough of a difference. He did not let it show in his face. But wow. He smirked. He could get used to _this_.

The demons were on the floor in the middle of a stark room. Ropes, magical and physical, restrained them. They were conscious and looking around the room with dark, intelligent eyes. Their eyes landed on Charles and did not leave. Charles rubbed his eyes. He was tired. And hungry. Something occurred him.

"Dibby?" he called uncertainly. A cowering house elf appeared in the middle of the room.

"Master called?"

Charles rubbed his eyes again, passed a hand through his hair and made a sound of aggravation. He had forgotten about the house elves. The farm animals were probably dead as well. And the horses. Aby was going to kill him. Or whine, wail and complain until he killed himself to take himself out of the misery.

"You should have left, even if I didn't order it."

The house elf shook his head and grabbed his ears, looking around in fear and screaming when he found the demons.

"Bring me whatever salvageable food you find. Set it up in a table outside this room. Tell the others to leave. You stay around in case I need you." It quickly popped out.

"Anything else you forgot?" Tom asked acidly. The look Charles sent him promised death if he spoke one more word, all previous gratefulness and warm feelings forgotten. Charles searched in his pocket for a piece of chalk. After finding it, he quickly drew a rune in each wall and a circle around the demons. They watched him with calculating eyes and fought against the restrains.

Charles opened the door and motioned for everyone to leave the room. Without a word, everyone left. Except for one. Seraphim walked towards him. He put his lips to Charles' ear, his long black hair cascading down and forming a barrier between them and the rest and whispered two words, "_I know_."

Charles turned his head, his face millimeters from the vampire. "It was never a secret," he said and walked away. The vampire chuckled loudly.

"We'll talk later," Seraphim promised and followed him out. Charles felt a cool brush against the back of his neck. He controlled his volatile temper that was looking for an excuse to relieve stress. Seraphim was not someone you relieved pent up anger with. Unless you were looking for the most horrible way to die. Before closing the door Charles threw a small crystal vial filled with a specially made mutated virus. The vial broke on contact. He closed the door and drew the final rune on the door.

He neared the table. There was food from the party, a wide variety that had some for every species. Charles grabbed an apple and bit it with more violence than was necessary. He made the half the upper wall clear, indestructible glass and watched what happened. Which was nothing. Nothing happened. Two demons stopped moving but that was about it. Tom offered him a sandwich. Charles accepted it with a nod. Without even looking at it he bit it. It was perfect. Just as he expected it to be.

"This is useless. A waste of time!" Haraaf, the Goblin leader of the North, screamed in frustration, "Higher level demons cannot be killed."

Charles chewed without hurry and when he finished he answered, "Everything can be killed. The trick is finding the right weapon."

He finished the sandwich, had another, drank water and waited. When he got bored, which didn't took long, he entered the room. Only one demon looked at him. The others looked intact; there was not a single scratch on them. They had only stopped moving, as if they were asleep. Charles poked one with the point of his boot. The demon turned to dust. Charles poked the other and got the same result. He kicked the last one, hard, to punish it for ruining his hypothesis and a perfectly good plan. He exited the room in a huff, his frustration tangible.

"It failed," Charles declared with annoyance.

"Wha-what do you mean it _failed_? You just killed two demons! Without touching them!" Haraff stuttered with disbelief.

"If you didn't notice there were three demons in there," Charles replied scathingly. He breathed deeply and pulled back his anger and frustration.

"Let's talk this over again," Charles said and passed a hand through his dark hair to get it out of his face in agitation. Charles paced, looking intently at the floor and not talking to anyone in specific but to everyone in the room. "They are all of the same species, that much is obvious. Yet they have different vulnerabilities and strengths depending on their power level. Complete immunity to magical attacks and partial immunity to physical-biological attacks at the highest level." Charles stayed still, looking blankly at a wall as he thought. "A viral attack would only work for…80%? Maybe more, maybe less. It's not nearly enough. We need a double attack."

"Are you sure a complete magical attack would be ineffective?" Tom asked, looking at Seraphim.

"Positive," Charles answered without even looking at the vampire. He felt Seraphim's magic surround him in a show of power. Charles looked at the vampire in annoyance. The vampire smirked playfully back at Charles. The magic that possessively encapsulated him retreated seconds later. Tom came to his side and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Amon is out there," Charles said in annoyance. "Magic hardly works on them. Not even decapitation works." There was a collective gasp at the name that was followed by foul curses. They weren't aware of the conversation inside the house, Charles observed. He had never put surveillance in Marianne's basement. There had been no point.

"And that changes things," Charles continued. "Maybe if it had been only Hades or Abaddon." More swearing. "I might've even risked it with the both of them. But the three of them? No."

"A chemical attack that bypasses their natural magical defense?" Tom suggested, looking at Seraphim warningly. Seraphim looked amused. Not at all threatened.

"Like what?" Charles asked Tom. No one added to the conversation. It had spiraled beyond their basic understanding of life. Most of them still wondered what 'viral' meant.

"What in the bloody hell are you talking about?" the werewolf leader of the blue moon, the largest clan of werewolves in the country, asked, annoyed.

"A strong base?" Tom suggested, looking at Charles and completely ignoring the werewolf.

Charles thought about it. "Assuming it works, do we have enough?" Charles asked.

Tom shrugged. "Let's worry about that later. _If_ it works."

Charles nodded. "Someone needs to enter and tie the demon to a table. Bind him strongly, he won't like what we'll do to him."

They tested everything they had. And while the demon had suffered extensive damage, it hadn't died. A group of ten, including Charles and Tom, were around the table. The rest had dispersed to rest or eat while they had the time. Charles was tired and that was adding to his frustration.

Hyperion entered, stumbling and drunk out of his mind. He was a lovable drunk, blessed his blond ass, and shared the fire whiskey with Charles. Charles took a long sip before passing it back. Hyperion's sloppy and clumsy hands dropped the bottle and it fell on top of the demon, the liquid slipping out lazily. Charles cursed loudly and screamed at Hyperion for wasting perfectly good liqueur. A noxious yellow gas erupted where the liqueur touched the demon. Everyone backed away from the table. In moments where there had been a barely alive demon was nothing but black liquid and a leg that had not been touched by the alcohol.

"No!" Charles exclaimed aghast.

"I hope you show this much emotion in my funeral," Tom said in anger.

"Not the whiskey! Everything but the whiskey," Charles lamented.

"Dibby?" Tom called.

"No!" Charles pleaded. He pulled Tom away from the large group. "Let's find another demon and try something else. I still have a few ideas," Charles said desperately.

The house elf appeared with a pop. "Bring all the whiskey." The elf popped out before Charles could do more than look on in horror.

"All of it?" Charles asked in a horrified whisper. "No, no, no! We can do something with the purified alcohol I have in the lab."

"We tried that; it didn't work."

"We can try to mimic the results."

"Do you know what's in firewhyskey?" Tom asked with a raised brow.

"If I knew the secret formula I would have made a damn factory by now!" Charles said in anger. He was trying to keep the conversation in private, but still. Everyone was hearing.

"This is ridiculous! You are fighting over handing over the only thing that has worked! Are you mad, boy? I will buy you all the whiskey you can drink, let's just survive this," Haraaf said.

"I second that. I would find out the formula for you and replace all the bottles you use," a werewolf leader said.

"Charles, be reasonable." Tom said.

"But the whiskey?" Charles questioned softly, his eyes moist.

"We'll drown in whiskey and women for a week in honor of this battle."

"Make it a week of every year!"

"Hear, hear!"

"Oh, great," Tom said mordantly, "Just what I needed, more time with crossbreeds."

"I need more alcohol," Charles muttered. "This day just keeps getting worse."

-0-

With a plan set and the wards that will keep the virus contained almost down. They set up to move. Everything useful was moved with the use of the tunnels. Everything else was left. When everything was ready, Charles deactivated the wards of the tunnels and let the demons enter in select key points. They flooded in and slowly made their way to the center.

The group of a hundred waited in the center, when the demons were close and the majority of the demons where inside the tunnels, they got out and blocked all exists. Timed valves had already released the virus and when the tunnels sealed, whiskey started flooding the place.

Outside, the wards shinned red and the air was stale. And three sets of eyes watched him from afar.

"Go, go, go!" Charles urged his team as everyone ran in teams towards the house. The front doors opened once Charles neared them. The teams that were waiting for him quickly entered. Charles stayed behind with Seraphim and Tom. Surprisingly, a few others stayed behind. Volker with the other wizards, Haraaf and the goblin he had saved and Isaac with his Alpha. The doors closed and sealed.

Maybe he was too tired to care, maybe it was the fact that the more time passed the more time he was a at risk of dying from the raw magic he had used or maybe it was something else. But when he walked forward, his strides were confident and sure. Seraphim at one side and Tom at his other, the others just one step behind. The demons met them half way.

"Do not attack until they attack," Charles said, recognizing that the demons did not look ready to attack and that one of them had a severed head in his hand.

Amon threw the head and it rolled until it touched his boots. Charles did not recognize the face.

"Your enemy," Amon said, his tone of voice monotone and his face still in shadows. "Maybe ours as well," he acknowledged.

"This has been… enlightening. You are a worthy enemy, Charles Winter. One much smarted than I was led to believe. I am not sure about the outcome of this fight."

"What do you wish to do?" Charles asked.

"Leave as friends. I think we have much to offer to each other."

Charles nodded and took a step forward, offering his hand. The demon laughed and walked forward. The demon grabbed his hand and did not let it go. For the first time Charles saw his face and shivered. Smoke covered Charles' wrist and the demons' to set the deal in place.

Charles let go of the cold hand and took a step back. The blond demon, Abbandon, tore the wards down. With one last look, they left.

Seraphim put a hand on his shoulder. Charles turned his face towards the vampire. There was something fierce in the vampire's eyes. Something like pride and possessiveness.

Charles turned to go in opposite direction to the house.

"Where are you going?" Volker asked.

"To sleep," Charles responded as he aparated out.

Hours later, after taking care of everything, Tom walked to their first home. He found Charles sleeping in his old bed. Still asleep, Charles moved to make him a space. Tom took off his boots, crawled in and closed his eyes.

* * *

><p>AN

Sorry for the lateness and the lack of contact, I've been without internet for a while, this chapter was erased and I had to redo it. It's different than what I expect it, tell me what you think. Updates will be slow, sorry about that. I'm in med school, no time for practically anything but you guys keep me motivated to find time. Thanks for the last reviewer, practically the reason I decided to sit down and finish this chapter.

Yeah, so tell me what you think. Is it what you expected or hoped to see? Was it good? Give me feedback! Any feedback is better than no feedback!


	47. Chapter 47: Unravelling the web

Chapter 47: Unravelling the web

Charles woke up panting and slightly disoriented. He was covered in sweat and dirt and with a pounding headache that was killing him. The light was only making it worse. He groaned and brought a hand to his face to rub the sleep out of it. The pain from what had to be a nasty scar on the left side of his face made him stop. He curiously touched it and flinched. In addition, he found that he had two bumps on his head and a tender scar on his neck.

He heard a door open and someone come in. The magic clearly felt like Tom. With his eyes still closed, he groggily asked, "For how long have I've been out?"

"Four hours," Tom answered. Charles 'felt' more than heard Tom approach him. Warily, he opened his eyes to see Tom placing a bowl of watery, tasteless-looking oatmeal on the nightstand beside the bed. Charles nodded and sat with difficulty. He was tempted to go back to sleep. His joints hurt. Moving hurt. Everything hurt.

"Mom and dad?" he asked hoarsely. His mouth tasted foul. Like something had died in there.

"Fine," Tom answered without much enthusiasm and didn't abound on it.

Charles nodded and yawned; it made the scar on his face and neck stretch painfully. He stayed still for a few minutes, warring if to go back to sleep or to get up. In the end, he dragged himself to the bathroom downstairs.

It was still exactly as they had left it. Everything was. It was as if they had never left. And the wards felt more powerful than ever.

His thoughts were quiet as he examined himself on the mirror. His reflection showed deep purple under eyes, pale, waxy complexion and sunken cheeks. Bruises adorned his skin; there was more black, blue, purple and green than cream. It was as if someone had painted him over with watercolours and forgot to wash it off. His hair hanged low, covered in grease and unidentifiable things. The smell coming out of him was hard to describe, something acid and harsh that filled the entire room and made his nose burn.

The pain of slowly pealing off his clothes was excruciating. The dried blood from the scabs had attached itself to the cotton and he had to rip open some wounds to be able to take them off. His injuries, while painful, were not life threatening. The only things that worried him were the chaotic state of his magic, his exhaustion and possible internal damage. Individually all of them could kill him. Together meant that at some point he had to go to the hospital because it was out of his capability to treat.

Out of the pocket of his torn trouser pants he took out a small glass bottle, no bigger than his thumb. It had miraculously survived the ordeal. Charles sat on the edge of the tub while it filled with warm water and simply looked at the tiny bottle. It was the last one of his supply.

His mother, with Tom's help, had destroyed every other bottle in the hopes of helping him overcome his addiction to potions. With resignation, he pulled out the cork and downed it. It tasted like shame and power and guilt and heaven as it burned through his veins and gave him back the energy he so badly needed.

He quickly and efficiently cleaned himself up. He replaced his torn clothes with clean, functional ones that had been left behind in the house and enlarged with a spell. He washed his socks and pants with the left over bath water and dried them with a quick spell. He looked at himself in the mirror and figured it was the best he could do.

Tom was leafing through a book when he entered the room. It was one of the storybooks they had left behind. Something about a House Elf if he remembered correctly.

"Why are you reading that?" Charles asked. Tom looked up from his book; His eyes travelled Charles' body with pursed lips. Charles' eyes hardened, already expecting a disparaging remark. Tom did not disappoint.

"Reanimated corpses look healthier." Tom closed the book and carelessly tossed it on the bedside table.

Not in the mood to get in a fight and already feeling the itch to punch Tom, Charles dragged his boots from where they had fallen under the bed. A quick '_Reparo_' made them useable again. He tied them on with more force than necessary. He looked one last time around the room and got up, ready to leave.

"Let's go," Charles said, his voice raspy.

Tom nodded and followed Charles out of the room. Before reaching the door, Tom looked back at the untouched oatmeal and felt an all-consuming anger envelope him like an old friend. Tom banished the plate and slammed the door close.

"We are going back to the house," Charles said as he walked down the stairs. Tom barely, just barely, suppressed the impulse of kicking Charles on the back with all his strength and watch him fall down the stairs, head first.

It was the knowledge, the absolute certainty, that it would hurt him more than it would hurt Charles that stopped him. Sociopaths, by nature, are impulsive creatures. It said something that Tom has learned to be cautious around Charles. Experience had taught Tom that Charles was not one to let something like that go unpunished. And Tom _would_ be punished, _severely_. Homicide attempts were not taken lightly in the Winter household.

_Silly, really. They shouldn't take it personally. He meant nothing by it. _

"I need to check what is left, and then meet with the bloody leaders and their bloody endless meetings. Word will spread quickly and I need to control the fallout," Charles continued talking, blessedly unaware of Tom's thoughts.

At the continued silence, Charles turned to look back at Tom. In that moment Tom knew that Charles had done it on purpose. The oatmeal had not been left untouched by a careless accident but with malicious intent and full knowledge. It was in the intensity of Charles' eyes; the knowledge behind those eyes. Charles had wanted to make Tom as mad as he had felt with his 'corpse' comment. And Charles had managed it.

"I wanted to kick you down the stairs," Tom admitted, not sure if he felt amused at the simple ploy or enraged that he felt for it.

"And I wanted to break your nose," Charles responded easily. "Still do."

"And I look forward to the next set of stairs. Your blood on the carpet will look glorious." Tom replied without missing a beat, a soft smile on his lips at the thought.

A beat of silence. "Do I really look that bad?" Charles asked, sounding a little worried.

"Worse," Tom responded with a smile. Charles' insecurity always made Tom feel better.

"Ouch," Charles mocked winced. Then with an evil smile he looked Tom over, stopping at his ankles, "Your ankles look fat," Charles said, his voice full of mock concern. "I think they swelled after all that time standing and running."

Tom's eyes immediately went to his ankles. Tom tried to keep his face as neutral as possible, but Charles knew that Tom was slowly dying on the inside. Tom had a weird fixation with ankles and socks. Charles did not understand it, but he did not need to understand it in order to use it against Tom whenever possible.

"They are not," Tom replied, his voice crisp and sharp. Equally trying to convince himself as well as Charles.

After a long silence. "I'm sorry; that was unmerited," Charles responded, after enjoying watching Tom agonize a beat too long. Tom nodded, accepting the apology, but he still looked at his ankles a few more minutes while Charles searched the house for something useful. After the third time Tom asked if they really looked fat, Charles regretted bringing it up.

"They are fine," Charles said one more time. "Really," he insisted.

"Easy for you to say when you have the ankles of a nine year old," Tom said resentfully. Tom gained a thoughtful look. "But on the other hand, at the risk of the rest of me _looking_ like a small nine year old, I think I'll take my chances with my ankles," Tom said with a sadistic smile.

Charles left eye twitched. While a normal height for his age, in his mind Charles saw himself tall and powerful and it always came as a nasty surprise to find himself in a small, fragile body. Charles huffed, his pride hurt.

Feeling himself victorious and avenged, Tom extended his hand, "Let's go." Charles rolled his eyes and accepted the offered hand.

And just like that, they were fine again.

They apparated just outside the outer wards in case one of them was still active, but still inside the electric bridge's range so that the Ministry of Magic's underage magic wouldn't detect them.

The place had no wards. Charles sighed and shook his head at the level of disaster that had been left behind. They walked around for a few minutes before he came to several conclusions.

The land would probably never be fertile again. And it would probably take months, even years, of work before the land could be useable. The cleaning of corpses alone would probably take until summer, not counting on the ones that were trapped underground. Charles kicked a rock in frustration. As expected, all the farm animals had been killed. Only parts of Aby's horses could be found. Maybe some had survived by running towards the mountains before the wards closed them in, but he doubted it. Charles had a list of all the breeds, colours, ages and genders of all of her horses, including identifying features just in case anything like this ever happened. The horses will be replaced and with some luck Aby will never know.

A screech made them look up. A dot in the sky got progressively larger until the large owl Charles identified as his own landed heavily on his shoulder.

"I'm never going to get rid of you, I'm I?" Charles asked softly as he tenderly caressed his owl, Rabbit. The owl butted her head against Charles palm. She had what looked like demon meat in her mouth. After a few moments she took flight and Charles' shoulder was left a bloodied mess as a small reminder of the owl's love.

"Let's see if there is something salvageable inside," Charles said. Tom nodded distractively, five well-preserved demon carcasses calmly floating behind him.

The front doors creaked and the sound echoed through out the entire mansion. It was empty and unrecognizable from the place that a day ago he called home. It looked like the inside wards had been damaged when the demons ripped the blood wards. The walls were back to their original form but not much had survived. They stopped at the entrance and simply stared at the remains. It was one thing to logically know that not much might have survived the attack, than to see the level of damage.

"You know what's curious?" Tom asked, a step behind him, his voice bounced on the walls and continued.

"What?" Charles whispered as he walked around the empty entry. He pushed the door that led to the ballroom. The ceiling had caved in, the floor was cracked and the windows shattered. Here and there party favours were still lying on the floor.

"Penny told me the demons attacked Havington Mansion. And it was curious to note that _their_ wards did not suffer."

Charles hummed. "That is curious," he agreed, "Maybe the attack was not as strong as it was here."

"Maybe," Tom permitted, "But the wards there are significantly weaker than the ones we had here."

"Notably weaker," Charles continued to agree.

"While ours failed," Tom added with clenched teeth, his frustration visible.

"Charles!" Tom shouted when Charles ignored the conversation and closed the doors towards the ballroom and continued towards the stairs. Tom grabbed Charles' shoulder to prevent him from moving further and turned him around brusquely. He put both hands on Charles' shoulder and held him there.

"What are you saying, Tom?" Charles finally asked, annoyed.

"I'm saying you purposely weakened the wards," Tom accused boldly. "I'm saying you planned this."

"Why would I do that?" Charles asked, looking directly at Tom, as always his face not betraying anything.

Tom faltered at the direct question. "I don't know."

"Ah."

"Ah? What do you mean 'ah'?" Tom asked, his voice warning that he was one step away from furious.

"You are simply throwing accusations around. And I don't like that."

"And you are not denying them." Suddenly, the dots in Tom's mind started connecting things. Details that had previously not made sense, started to make sense and a picture formed in Tom's head.

"The Ward Masters," Tom suddenly realized. "They were working on the wards yesterday morning, hours before the party. Everyone assumed they were reinforcing the wards. They were not, were they?" Tom asked, already knowing the answer. More things started to click in Tom's mind.

"You knew the wards would hold so you weakened them… and four hours before the attack you told a large assembly that there was going to be an attack. You either knew or suspected there was a spy. You all but told the enemy there was a weak link in your armour. The possibility of getting in. _But why?_"

Charles remained in silence, simply looking at Tom with an unreadable expression. Tom studied Charles face, looking for clues while his brain worked in overdrive. With a start he remembered something from their favourite childhood game, _War_. Every time he lost to Charles it was because he carelessly entered Charles' domain. And it suddenly made sense.

Tom wondered for a moment how much of those 'games' had simply been games. Now that he thought about it, it was a bit weird to play 'how to get out of jail' with progressively harder scenarios: Muggle jails, magical jails, warded jails, jails protected by magical creatures. Penny was particularly good in that game. Tom had never questioned too much the purposes of those games…because they were games, weren't they?

"You _wanted_ them to come to you," Tom's mouth opened and closed as he got his mind to work around that revelation. Frank basically told them the same thing about hunting, '_Let the bird come to you_.'

"Here you are in control, you hold all the cards, you know the playing field. You have enough space to attack and a whole underground world that you can retreat if necessary. You have the majority of your weapons here and the tools needed to create more. _You planned this_." This time Tom did not hesitate, did not doubt it for a second.

"Yes," Charles responded simply with a sigh. He rubbed his forehead, as if dispelling an incoming headache. "The attack was going to happen, if not now then later. It simply made sense to do it now. As you said, I could control the variables here."

Something in Charles easy admission made Tom uneasy. With Charles, things were never that straight forward. He was missing something and Charles would not tell him unless he figured it out first.

"The beasts stayed hours after you left; waiting for you," Tom commented, looking at Charles' face carefully, hungrily. There. A twitch as Charles suppressed a smirk and an amused glint to his eyes.

Tom drew a sharp breath. "You wanted their _loyalty_," he breathed. "This was never about the enemy… And what better way to gain their loyalty than to set a common enemy, give them weapons they never knew existed and let them fight in a glorious bloody war with you as their leader." Tom gained a pensive frown as he went over every single move Charles had made. "You mixed them in groups and forced them to depend on each other, but mostly to depend on you. You took them out of their safety, forcing each species to adhere to your methods since theirs only worked when they were together. To follow your every word without questioning it… To trust you."

Tom's eyes gained an unfocused dreamy quality, "Beautiful," he whispered, his hand clutching Charles' shoulder in an unforgiving grip. He did not need Charles to confirm his theory… it sounded so backhanded, so far-fetched, so convoluted…_so Charles_.

'_Trust me,_' Charles always said when Tom lost confidence. Tom was beginning to appreciate how important trust was, what truly meant to hold someone's trust. You basically held their life in your hands. He put the thought for later study. He wanted to dissect this 'trust' thing, imitate and achieve the same results. He wanted everyone to 'trust' him. And he will. He will be the most trusted individual in the Wizarding World. The king, really.

Tom's eyes refocused on Charles and his smile grew, not a smile you would associate with a child. Charles waited patiently for Tom to come out of his daydreaming. After all this time Tom's brilliance still amazed Charles. Tom could assemble a puzzle, and see the over all picture, with just a few pieces. When he knew he had all of Tom's focus, Charles talked.

"To some extend, yes, you are right, Tom. I…" Charles hesitated on the wording, "_guessed_ how things would play out and planned and acted accordingly to what I _thought_ was best. But Tom, you have to realize that I took a big gamble. It paid off…this time. But it would not always be so. Some things were unplanned. For all my planning, I did not expect _demons. _Maybe trolls or dragons but never in my wildest nightmare did I imagine demons. And I did not planned for Leviathan to be stranded. I moulded the circumstance to fit my needs as best as I could. "

Charles knew that Tom wasn't paying him any attention. After the confirmation that he was right, Tom had stopped paying attention. He was still lost in trying to 'figure it all out'.

"The cameras you 'accidentally' left on; the glorious, ostentatious…and _unnecessary_ show of magic… that was all on purpose, wasn't it? You wanted to show them your power; that you are above them."

"I wouldn't quite say it was unnecessary; if you remember correctly I was stranded on a field full of demons and with no backup," Charles grumbled.

Tom frowned minutely, not having heard a thing Charles said, and looked at Charles seriously. "Why didn't you finish it? Finishing the demons would had elevated you to Merlin's level." Tom couldn't imagine why someone would let that opportunity pass them by.

"Tom, I'm going to tell you something and I want you to listen very well." Charles waited until he was sure he had all of Tom's attention to continue. "The moment of greatest peril is just before the victory and right after. No, –hear me out," Charles demanded when Tom made to interrupt. "In the heat of victory, arrogance and overconfidence can push you past the goal you had aimed for, and by going too far, you make more enemies than you defeat. Don't let success to go to your head. Set a goal, and when you reach it, stop. It would have been arrogant and foolish of me, if not downright suicidal, to turn down the offer of a peaceful ending. Moreover, I have gained powerful allies. Terrible, yes, but powerful. And right now, I need all the powerful allies I can gather. I don't have the privilege of denying an alliance just because they are evil," Charles finished a bit defensively. With one look at Tom it was obvious he hadn't needed to; Tom could care less if demons killed other humans, as long as it didn't personally affect him.

"Who else knows about this?" Tom asked.

"I'm pretty sure Seraphim figured it out," Charles responded with a sigh, "He disappeared for a while. I think he was checking the wards and noticing the discrepancies." And had assured Charles that they would 'talk' in the future. It was not a conversation Charles was looking forward. Seraphim hadn't looked mad, but who knows? Crazies never did seem mad; they just killed.

"No one else?"

"I don't think so."

A sound made them both look at the top of the stairs. Leviathan stared down on them with horror, the black box that until now had masked his presence in his trembling hands.

"Leviathan?" Charles questioned, sounding worried.

"I stayed to give you this back," Leviathan said in a monotone voice, his eyes on the black box.

Charles took a step forward and Leviathan took a step back.

"I didn't understood what they meant, you know…" Leviathan said softly, " when the demon asked, _'Are you in the habit of letting the door open to wicked things?'_ and you didn't deny it. Even they knew the door had been left opened. That they had been invited."

"Leviathan, hear me out," Charles implored, stepping forward. Leviathan took another step back.

"It's all your fault," the vampire spat. "It all happened because of you. He would not have left me there if it weren't for you," Leviathan rambled, looking at Charles accusingly.

"He? Who?" Charles asked in confusion before figuring it out, "Leandro? Are you blaming me for what he did to you?" Charles asked angrily, taking a few more steps forward.

"You let this happen."

"You listen to me and listen well," Charles walked forward while Leviathan kept backing out before hitting the wall. "I told you to leave and what did you do? You stayed behind. I told you to stay away, to not get involved, and did you listen? NO! Because you just HAD to help him. And what did your _precious_," he spat the word," do? He left you to die. I did not put you in that situation. Your stupidity did."

Charles backed away when Leviathan flinched. For half a second Charles saw the hurt, the anger and crushing pain Leviathan felt before the vampire hid it behind a wall of steel. The vampire turned away and disappeared down the hall without responding. The black box forgotten on the floor.

"Damn it!" Charles cursed. "Leviathan! Levi, I –I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that," he shouted, but the vampire had already left the house.

"Well, that could have gone better," Tom commented from behind him.

"FUCK!" Charles screamed, punching the wall.

"You are just on a roll now, aren't you? First your parents, then your friend. My, my, you better be careful before you loose everyone around you."

"Were you feeding him anger?" Charles asked angrily.

"What if I was? You only said I couldn't kill him."

"You know, Tom, sometimes I wish you weren't such a sociopath," Charles spat.

"Well, luckily for you, I am, because otherwise I might get offended by your comments and leave just like everyone else has done."

Charles decided it was better to drop the conversation. It was getting to the dangerous point of no return. And Tom seemed to be of the same mind because they left the conversation behind and started to search the remains of the house. Systematically, Charles started leaving small detonators in every major support of the house.

"You're bringing it down?" Tom asked, "Why?"

"The wards have been compromised. The structure of the house is by now well known. I cannot keep using the same weapons because right now people may be trying to figure out how to disable them. We have to destroy everything: the house, the weapons, the safe-systems. Everything is useless now."

"And start over?" Tom asked, clutching his chest as if in pain. Charles understood perfectly. It was painful to discard everything. Those projects were the result of years of work. And it was no easy feet to start developing new theories, models, and technology for weapons and wards. And not something done from one day to another. Especially when you have to avoid using the same models. It was a set back that would likely take them years to recover from but it was necessary.

"And start over," Charles confirm grimly. "They might be 'allies' now but we always have to prepare for the moment they stop being allies and start being enemies. Besides, this place is useless and cleaning it would take more money than it's worth."

While it pained Tom, some of those weapons of mass destruction had been his creation, his babies, Tom agreed with the paranoia, and instead asked, "What you are going to do when people come here looking for you and find nothing?"

Charles thought about it, "I think I can deviate all communication so that it goes directly to Havington Mansion. Mail, Floo and apparition. It shouldn't be too hard. We'll stay there for a while. Until we figure out where to go next."

They found Aby's dog, which they had completely forgot about, in one of the locked rooms. He had hidden under a bed and once they opened the door he came bouncing out, hungry and bored. They porkey'ed the dog to Aby with a note assuring her that her dog had always been safe and sound in a well-protected place.

They stayed behind only to control the explosion and make sure it went as unnoticed as an explosion can be.

"You know, that's the second time I see my house up in flames," Charles commented. Tom turn to look at him but Charles kept his eyes on the fire, his glasses reflecting the orange flame.

"But this time it was you who did it."

"Yeah, this time it was me," Charles responded blandly.

Neutral ground wasn't really a special place. It wasn't very big or very pretty or located in the best of places. It boasted only one compact building made of white stone; the rest was barren land with a few dried brushes. The only thing that made the place special out of the other muggle-populated neighbours was that it had wards and what it stood for. But in the bleak winter afternoon it was the liveliest place for miles.

Just outside the ward limits was a large crowd of all kinds of magical and sentient creatures that extended as far as the eye could see. There were Veelas and Trolls standing still like mountains, and wild Goblins who lived outside the realms of rulers, and hundreds of Centaurs. House-Elves calmly sat at the ward limit and looked inside with a look of intense concentration. Native Wizards with their spears and their staffs stood in groups. Small fairies danced in the air. And creatures so rare that they were thought to have been lost in time calmly strolled the lands. Overhead more than twenty phoenixes flew.

"Wow," Charles breathed, amazed beyond words.

It was in that moment that Charles realized the magnitude of what he had done. Of what he was doing. This was how altering history looked like. And he would be lying if he said it didn't terrify him.

Inside the wards were more familiar faces. People important enough to be granted entrance to Neutral Grounds but not to walk inside the building by themselves. Word that he and Tom arrived spread like wildfire and soon everyone was clapping, and shouting his name and talking. The ground moved as the Trolls stumped in unison and a beautiful song played from the sky.

"A hero's welcome," Tom breathed in his ear with dry mocking humour, holding his hand tightly to prevent being separated.

"Haven't you heard?" Charles whispered back, "I saved the day." If he sounded a little sour about the fact, Tom decided to ignore it.

The crowd parted as they walked and soon they were inside the building, closing the door and leaving the noise behind, to Charles relief. Inside he was greeted with another round of applause. But this time it was not by strangers, but by people he knew very well.

It was not a multitude where faces blurred, but a small, intimate crowd. Each face was familiar and with a name. The people outside didn't know what had happened, but the people in here had lived the worst and the best of that fight with him. And he remembered each one of them. Some of them he had never seen them before last night, but now he will remember them until the day he died. There was nothing that brought a group of strangers together like fighting, and surviving together. Nothing.

In general all of them looked a little worse for wear. Like Charles, they held new scars and bruises, but they were standing on their own and without help. After a quick mental head-count he knew he was missing some, most noticeably Leviathan.

One of the goblins stepped forward and calmed the crowd, the werewolves being the unruliest and the last to stop shouting and laughing. The goblin had a sling around his right arm and the sleeve of his tunic had been cut short. In his arm it was clearly visible a hand-shaped bruise that covered the circumference of his arm. If Charles were to put his hand in the bruise he knew it would be a perfect fit.

"Today is monumental day in the history of our world, and I am here witnessing it because of this wizard right here that risked his life to save a goblin that held no importance on the outcome of the battle." The goblin stopped and looked at Charles seriously, "Charles Winter, this mark," the goblin pointed at the hand-shaped bruised that had been charmed to never heal, "will forever serve as a reminder of how tightly you held on to a goblin when things were bad. May our Nations be held as tightly," with that the goblin raised a cup of mead and shouted, "To new friends; may we have a long and prosperous relationship."

"To new friends," everyone repeated.

Jim Ross had been in his home, watering the plants his late wife had left in his charge when he suddenly wasn't. He was standing in the middle of a room with a dome-shaped roof he didn't recognized; his hand still in the air and the watering can splashing water on the marble floors. He dropped the can and it clanked harshly and spilled its content on the floor. Jim turned around brusquely, reaching for his wand at the same time.

"Relax. You are not in danger."

"Charles Winter?" Jim Ross turned to the sound as he had been electrocuted. The boy calmly walked towards him from the only entrance to the room. A year had passed since Jim last seen this boy on the train station.

"Do you remember our conversation?"

"Yes."

"And you aware of the dangers involved?"

Ross nodded, seeming a lot more composed. "I talked to Isobel. My daughter is a grown woman and all of her children are already in Hogwarts. She agreed I should do this. She hasn't forgotten the debt we owe you for saving Matthew."

"The material I sent you, did you read it?"

Ross nodded, his smile slightly exasperated, and with reason. A year might seem a lot of time, but hardly enough to read all fourteen volumes of condensed history, conflict and alliances.

"The time has come when staying in the shadows is no longer an option. Someone has to represent the Wizards in the treaties to the public or else I would be facing an uprising. And that someone cannot be me."

Ross nodded, "You need to buy a few more years. What do you need me to do?"

"For today, only watch."

In that day more laws, treaties and peace agreements were signed than ever before in recorded history. It became the largest congregation of Magical beings the world had ever known as more and more arrived every hour. Every country in the world was represented. Safe passages were negotiated. Trade was opened. Connections were made. Long held grudges were put to rest. War prisoners were ordered to be returned to their families. Arcane, discriminating laws were declared null and void; bypassing all the official channels.

It was unavoidable that newspapers from all around the world would cover the story, but it was agreed to withhold the personal information from anyone who did not want to be published as having participated in the event. Oswald, Charles, Tom and some others were the ones most interested in having that safety measure passed.

Charles agreed to donate portals, doorways that instantly transported you to its sister doorway, and his creation of discerning wards. In that way creating a safe, rapid way of traveling and connecting with other lands that would improve the trade. And the wards will keep the inhabitants safe from the incoming influx. He 'forgot' to enlighten everyone of the fact that he would have complete knowledge of the comings and goings of everyone who used it and would be able to track them if needed. When your enemy could disguise itself into anyone, it made keeping tabs on everyone a necessity.

Tom was a natural in politics. It surprised Charles to see how charming he could be when he wanted. Tom never used his charm on Charles (he was always his usual bastard self; nothing more, nothing less) and rarely on other people. And for some reason, Tom kept mentioning how we, the magical creatures, needed to start trusting each other. He repeated it so much that by the end of it Charles was starting to believe that he _really _needed to start trusting the goblins, which was all kinds of preposterous.

For the first time, wizards entered Neutral Grounds. Charles usually dealt with them apart, using his older self or other disguises. But this time they met the real him. In general, wizards responded well to his age. The ones who were used to sending children to war found it much more normal than the ones that had children in school until they were young adults. The fact that there are infinite ways to change your physical appearance in the Wizarding World helped too. Some of them thought this was just another disguise. In public, the wizards will defer to Jim Ross. In private, they dealt with him.

When dealing with other creatures, some wizards fared better than others. Charles made a note of those who could hold their head above water while drowning in a sea of powerful beings with strong personalities and even stronger attitudes. Still, the road was paved for a better, safer future for Wizards, in union with the rest of the Magical World.

It went on and on for hours with countless of people, creatures, petitions, agreements, and disagreements. The rooms were too small; the food was always on the short end; the loo had a long line, and no matter where Charles went someone always stopped him to tell him their tale of misfortune. The first twelve hours were not that hard; painful, but not that hard, but by fifteen hour Charles was battling a losing battle against his eyelids. Exhaustion was setting in and he announced that he was leaving within the hour. Jim Ross will stay in his stead. To his torture, everyone suddenly decided they wanted to speak up about their plans in the future. A new, bigger and more confortable Neutral Grounds was proposed and Charles whole heartily backed the idea.

The South Goblin Leader proposed a public market in a central location that sounded curiously familiar to the model Charles had shown the leaders in the tour of the house that was now burned. The other leaders backed the idea as they had already seen that, at least in theory, it was plausible. And he saw the seeds of his idea take place, evolve and become a reality sooner than he ever imagined. Who would have imagined all the progress that can be obtain after a war?

Well, besides every leader in history.

He looked at his face on the mirror of the room he was hiding in and threw some hasty glamours to cover up how beat up he looked. He drew a communication rune with his bloody finger and quietly murmured the incantation. Immediately Penny's face appeared on the mirror.

"Charles!" she exclaimed, her eyes moving to something outside Charles' view.

"Everything ok?" Charles asked, worried with her nervous behaviour.

"Fine!" she squeaked, "Everything's fine. Mom's fine. Dad's mad, no surprise there and Aby is sleeping… Why? Have you heard anything different?"

Charles' face turned serious and he tried to look beyond Penny.

"Penelope, I'm going to ask one more time and I want you to answer truthfully. What is going on? Was there an attack?"

Penny deflated. "No, no… well, they tried once. But the wards held."

"What then?"

"You are going to be mad…" she said hesitantly.

Charles didn't answer, but the way he was looking at her made her squirm. His eyes were completely serious and his brows furrowed.

"I took a pet," she said vaguely. "He was hurt and the other demons were picking on him… He's really nice, I promise! You'll love him, once you meet him."

"What kind of pet?" Charles asked warily. He still hasn't forgotten the tiger that had been roaming around the house.

Penny looked everywhere but him. "A cat," she said.

"A cat?" Charles parroted, his eyes flat. This was Penelope he was talking to, somehow he did not believe she had taken a liking to something as banal as a cat.

"A demon-cat?" she whispered, her face almost disappearing to a corner of the mirror as she prepared for the strong rebuttal.

"Kill it." His tone of voice held no room for compromise.

"But Charles!"

"This is non-negotiable, Penny. Kill it or I will."

"He's hurt and hasn't tried anything on any of us," she said in desperation, tears already pooling in her eyes.

"Penny, demons are many things but they are not pets." Besides, he was allergic to cats. "This is final. Put mom on."

"I hate you!" she screamed.

"You'll get over it," Charles said with confidence. Had he been that dramatic at nine? Probably. "Put mom on," he repeated.

"Charles," his mother's worried voice appeared followed by her equally worried face. "Where have you been? It's been two days, come back home!"

"I'm still not done here, but I'll be there soon."

"When?"

"Soon." Charles knew the exact moment his conversation stopped being private by the flicker of the candles. He looked at the ceiling and then at the wall.

"Mom, I have go." Charles let go the communication and waited. A black mass condensed and Seraphim walked out of the wall.

"You weren't planning to leave without talking with me were you?" Seraphim purred.

"I guess it was too much to hope," Charles said with resignation and anger. His magic flared warningly when Seraphim stepped close and wisely, the vampire kept his distance.

"Come now, Charles. Don't hurt my feelings."

Charles decided not to respond. He was not stable, his magic resembled more a burning sun than the river it should be, and any strong emotion will make him lash out. He needed to go to the hospital.

"How much did you plan?" the vampire asked, going to the point without further banter.

Charles tensed but still responded, "Most of it."

Seraphim narrowed his eyes almost imperceptibly.

"All of it," Charles corrected.

"When?" Seraphim demanded.

"That same day; when it was obvious that I couldn't stop the party from happening."

"Those hours you spent looking at the window, you were planning then?"

"Yes."

"Fascinating." Seraphim looked thoughtful for a long time. Charles was too tired to guess what he was thinking. In an uncharacteristic, and frankly suspicious, act of empathy, Seraphim conceded, "You are tired now; we will talk later."

Charles nodded gratefully and headed for the door before Seraphim had time to change his mind.

"Charles," Seraphim called him back, "Make sure you are well rested. I want to talk to your new friends."

A shiver travelled through Charles' spine. Charles did not turn or acknowledge the comment and walked out.

'_No. Never. Hell will freeze over before he let Seraphim alone with Hades, Amon and Abandon. That, surely, will be the end of all humanity.' _

"I need to go to the hospital," Charles whispered to Tom as they left Neutral Grounds.

"Why?" Tom asked.

"I'm getting worse," Charles said with a grimace.

"It's better if we floo a private healer."

"No; I don't think this is something that can be solved outside the hospital."

"How are you going to explain it?" Tom asked.

"I don't know yet, I'll figure something out. Maybe I could admit to doing some unsupervised bit of magic that went wrong."

"You could get expelled for that." Normally you would get a warning the first time, but Charles being 'half-breed' complicated things.

At some point, Charles blacked out. One moment he was sitting in the waiting room while Tom filled his admission papers and an auxiliary healer called his parents and the next time he opened his eyes it was to the white ceiling of St. Mungos intensive care and five healers talking over each other and frantically waving their wands over his head.

The next time he opened his eyes it was to darkness and silence. The room was small. It had a single bed, a night table, and a chair by the bed. The door stood directly opposite to the bed. And a single window showed a night sky with a full moon.

The chair was not empty.

"Am I dreaming?" Charles asked.

"What makes you think that?" the being responded. The being was tall with a pale green complexion, spring-green eyes and hair that fell to the floor.

"I don't feel any pain. You are here. And Tom's not. Three impossible things." Charles knew he should be in pain or at the very least have trouble moving. Tom was always there when he woke up. Always. And the creature in front of him had been dead for at least a millennia. Three impossible things. Hence, he was dreaming.

"Why are you here?" Charles asked.

"The stars said it was a good night to visit and the wind guided me here."

Dream-Charles considered that that made perfect sense and left it there. "Are you staying?" Charles asked.

"Not for long. My time here has passed. I'm only a remnant of long times past."

"Oh." The creature stood up with an elegance that was unrivalled by any being on Earth and walked towards the bed. The Elf wore a silver-colored long robe that sparkled when the light from the moon hit it.

"You are dying. At the rate your magic is consuming your body to fuel itself you won't be alive by the end of the week."

"A week to live?" Charles asked, fear tinting his voice. He couldn't die. He had many plans and things to accomplish. He was only twelve. He couldn't leave Tom alone.

"I can heal you, if you wish. Do you wish for me to heal you, Charles Winter?"

"Why would you do that?" Charles asked, unable to look away from the impossibly beautiful face, feeling almost hypnotized but still suspicious of the generous offer.

"Magic will grant you a boon in the future. I hope you think of my people when the time comes. We have suffered long enough."

Charles gasped. He felt like his insides were on fire, like someone was carving him from the inside out. The pain went on and on until he felt he was living in an eternal state of pain. Until he wished for death.

"Charles? Charles? Wake up! You are having a nightmare. Hit me ONE more time and I swear to God…"

"Tom?" Charles asked drowsily, his limbs heavy and his back sweaty.

"Who the bloody hell else? I hope you weren't expecting anyone else…" There was a threat and a promise of pain in his words.

"Yeah, it's you," Charles confirmed. Before slipping into unconsciousness he felt small, soft hands calming his uncontrollable and spasmic shivers and the coldness of a wet towel mopping the sweat of his forehead. Every time he woke up, sweaty and panting and scared and disoriented, Tom was there.

The silence was oppressing. They had been sitting for several minutes. Simply sitting. No one was fidgeting or drinking tea or doing anything else that might excuse being on a room without talking.

"We are worried," his mother finally said after sending a look to his father.

"You have nothing to be worried about," Charles responded automatically.

It was apparently the wrong thing to see because his father exploded.

"You put yourself and your bother in unnecessary danger. You went against our wishes and sent us away like some bothersome parcel. You _burned down the house_ and went missing for days. Not to mention going into war with demons. You could have been killed! You could have killed everyone. Do you realize the consequences of your actions?"

"Yes," Charles responded testily, "I'm acutely aware of the consequences of my actions. The world is a better place because of it."

"That's not all," his mother interjected, sending a reproachful glance at Frank, " We are worried about you. At the kind of person you are becoming," she whispered the last part.

"What kind of person I am becoming?" Charles asked coldly. His mother looked at him sharply for the disrespect but his father beat her to it.

"Charles, you are disrespectful, deceitful, manipulative, controlling, scheming, untrusting, devious, underhanded… Please, tell me how that's not something to worry about." His mother looked at his father irritably, but not as she disagreed with what he said but was mad that he said it. Charles hated how they were looking at him now, like he was someone they loved but struggled to recognize.

"You give us choices that are not really choices at all," his mother explained, "but a careful manipulation. You already know the question, the answer, the problem and the solution, which you carefully guide us to. Don't think we don't notice; you got your intelligence from us."

"You make it sound like I'm a monster," Charles grumbled, a defiant glint in his eyes and glaring at the floor. Annabelle sighed, stood up and walked towards him, sitting besides him and taking his hand in her. She waited until he met her eyes.

"Charles, my love, I believe with all my heart that you are good and you have good intentions, but somewhere along the line you have lost sight of what it means to be good. Being good _does not_ mean twisting everyone's arm to act the way you want them to act because _you_ think is best. I did not raise you like this. I know you are good but your willingness to compromise your morals in order to achieve your end is, frankly, scary. And it's got to stop."

"We cannot allow you to continue to behave this way," his father continued. He rubbed his forehead and passed a hand through his grey hair. When he spoke again he was more composed, his tone softer. "Not only because you are out son and we want better for you, which we do, of course, but because you hold the keys of the world in your hands. And that means that as your parents we have the even larger responsibility of making sure you grow up to be a morally sound individual."

"We just want to make sure that when the time comes, you'll make the right choices," Annabelle whispered.

"And if there is no right choice?" Charles asked, looking at the floor.

"Remind yourself to make the right choices everyday and when the time comes you won't even question it. You'll make the right choice."

"It sounds so easy when you say it. So black and white."

"It is not," his mother pressed, her hand squeezing his. "But no matter how justified, how necessary, war is a crime. Killing is a crime. As your mother, I do not want you desensitized to its horror. As a concerned citizen, I want you to do the best that you can to ensure our survival. As a human being, I am appalled that something so big rests on someone who has yet to live his first year of school. So in order to balance them, as your mother I ask you to behave morally, as a citizen I do not interfere with your job, and as a human, I help you and mobilize others to help you because no one should have that burden on their shoulders."

She stopped for a second and then continued with her voice slightly raised and her hands tightly grasped. "What I am asking you is not to ignore me. Do not ignore me when I stop you from being cruel. Do not think I don't notice what you are doing when I don't interfere. And do not put me to sleep when I try to help." The last part was said in anger and Charles looked down in shame.

"I did not know you felt this way…I'm sorry. I'll try."

"And that's all we ask."

"So what now?" Charles asked.

"I don't know," Annabelle whispered, "I wish I knew."

"What are you two worrying about now?" Marianne demanded with a frown when she walked in the kitchen with the laundry.

"What else?" the cook responded for Annabelle and Frank, "The children."

"I'm guessing in particular the boys," Marianne said, "The girls have been behaving suspiciously well. They still hiding the monster, I reckon."

"The cat?" Frank asked.

"Ugliest cat I've ever seen," the cook said. "As long as it stays away from the food…"

"You two have nothing to worry about." Marianne interjected, "Someday, they will be great,"

"I do not doubt that both my sons will grow up to be great men," Annabelle responded, "I just hope they grow up to be good men."

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><p><em>An_

_I'm sorry for the long wait! I cannot promise anything except that I'm not abandoning the story.. it will just take me longer to finish it. _

_Please REVIEW it's what keeps me motivated and interested in the story! And it is a constant reminder that someone, somewhere its expecting me to finish this story. Your feedback is really valuable and it constantly challenges me to do better. If you guys point out a plot-hole, something that doesn't make sense, something wrong or difficult to understand, I will change it, no big deal. Its a large story, even I get confused. _

_From the bottom of my heart, thank you all that have review this story! +1K reviews! :D (some of you reviewed the entire story and left me speechless and jumping with joy) _

_As convoluted as the story may seem now, everything is finally set up and every character is where I need them to be. Hopefully (finger crossed), in the end everything will fall into place. From the last chapter a lot of you guys were kind of like Tom saying 'this doesn't make sense' or 'I'm missing something here.. why did that character say that/ did that' did any of you suspect that Charles planned it or did you have other theories? _


	48. Chapter 48: Birdie

**A/N** A small In-between chapter. Not a real chapter, just something short I wrote in between studying when I needed a break. It's nothing too serious and has no plot. A real, more serious chapter follows it. But after my finals in two weeks. I just didn't want to make you guys wait so much to hear from me.

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><p>Chapter 48: <span>Birdie<span>

_One year later. _

_Hogwarts._

"Charles!" Nott, his roommate and the son of the current Minister of Magic, called him. Charles stopped in the middle of the hallway and looked back. His roommate hurried up to meet him, stopping a moment to catch his breath after the long run. "Look I just saw Riddle and seriously man, hide. He's out to kill you."

"Oh, so it's just a normal day," Charles drawled, bored. "And I thought today would be different." It was like his roommates to exaggerate everything. Tom hadn't _seriously_ tried to kill him in _months_. Practically a lifetime for the sociopath.

"No, no," Nott gasped, still out of breath, "This time I think he really means it," he said and there was true fear in Nott's eyes. Fear for Charles' safety.

"He always means it," Charles muttered, walking away. "Don't worry," he said for the benefit of his jittery roommate, they were always jittery when it came to Tom, with good reason.

"I can deal with him." Charles walked away without offering much explanation.

In a way, it was funny to think that his roommates thought _he_ was the docile and helpless one. While Charles had never been a model student he was far from an incompetent one, but since he rarely sought problems or fights, he was thought as weak. Tom on the other hand had no trouble asserting his dominance through force and continually demonstrated to his peers he was the best in and outside of class.

"It was good knowing you pal," Nott yelled. Charles waved him away without much enthusiasm.

Charles entered the Great Hall for breakfast and immediately felt familiar eyes on him. He looked at the Slytherin table with disinterested eyes. Tom was at the center of the table; in the same spot he always sat but this time there was a large space around him. No one, not even his most devoted followers, wanted to be near him at the moment. The students might not feel Tom's magic as Charles felt it but they knew, deep inside them, it was not a good idea to be near Tom at the moment. Large waves of angry, dark magic cackled around Tom in a way that closely resembled a thunderstorm; Invisible to the naked eye but clearly felt in their overpowering fury. Charles met Tom's angry eyes with his own disinterested ones. Today he was in no mood to humour Tom's childishness. He made sure his eyes delivered the message before he walked off to the Gryffindor table to sit.

Since it was not an odd thing for Charles to occasionally sit with the Lions, no one batted an eye at the green tie in the sea of red. A few of his friends beckoned him to their side of the table with loud yells, making more than the usual ruckus, as if Charles was both blind and deaf.

"Longbotton that's my spot, sit somewhere else," Charles barked at the older boy. With Longbotton's large frame and tittle of Quidditch captain, not many dared to raise their voice above a whisper. It was what the older boy liked about the young snake, he was unafraid as the bravest of Gryffindor and never quailed at screaming at him. Longbotton laughed it off, pushed the person to his left and let the sit open.

"So Charles," Longbotton said with a wicked gleam, "we have this bet going around…"

Longbotton was interrupted by another burly boy, "about how long is going to take for Riddle to kill you."

"The Hufflepuffs are a bit more optimistic and their bet is _if_ he is going to kill you."

"The Ravenclaws betted on the method." Charles eyebrows rose. His eyes travelled to said house meeting some guilty gazes. One of his friends, a tall blonde, winked unashamedly. Charles had no doubt she started the bet and put on the most gruesome method. She was a good friend.

"The Slytherins?" Charles asked with curiosity, his bad mood lifting slightly.

"We haven't heard anything from them since Sunday. I think they are too busy running for their life to care much about the bet."

Charles' eyes travelled the length of the opposite table, his eyes jumping the black spot he knew Tom to be, and for the first time really looked at his Housemates. They did look rather harried. Any loud noise making them jump and drop their utensils.

It was more of a feeling than any sound that had him looking up and towards the doors. A second later Abraxas entered. Apparently more informed with the situation than Charles, the blond immediately headed to the Gryffindor table without pause.

"One of those days, huh?" Abraxas asked with sympathy, pushing another boy to take his sit. If anyone understood being at the other end of a sociopath's wrath, it was Abraxas.

Charles sighed and stubbornly kept eating.

"What did you do?" Abraxas asked with curiosity.

"What makes you think _I_ did something?" Charles asked as he speared a sausage and bit it angrily.

"Because you are avoiding him. If he was to blame, you would be flaying him alive."

"I don't want to talk about it," Charles muttered, spearing a carrot with his fork and biting it with force. Thankfully, Abraxas let it go.

Halfway through breakfast, Tom stood up abruptly and made his way to the Gryffindor table. Charles was surprised he lasted as long. The Gryffindor table hushed as Tom neared the table and it was completely silent by the time he was behind Charles. The students near Charles inched away, not knowing why they felt so much fear. The more sensitive ones looked pale and ready to vomit the closer Tom got. Having been witness to much worse fights, Abraxas looked on bored and continued with his breakfast.

"Dear brother," Tom said icily but quietly, "we need to talk."

"Can't," Charles replied as he took a bite off his bread. "Eating," he said with his mouth full and without taking his eyes off the plate.

Some students gasped in sheer horror. Tom's lack of mercy was well known among the students, even when the professors were still ignorant. Tom had done worse for far less offences. Charles felt a cold hand around his neck as he was brusquely yanked out of his chair. Charles stood up and faced Tom.

Since his back was to the students, no one saw Charles's rage-filled face or the smoke lifting from Tom's hand. The students only saw the two boys standing close without speaking a word before Charles stepped away from the table and walked out of the Great Hall. After a moment, Tom followed him.

The second Tom set foot out of the Great Hall a hand took him by the neck and slammed him to the wall. Strong wards covered them almost instantly.

"Tom," Charles warned, his voice calm but his eyes promising a slow death. A blast of pure dark magic slammed into Charles. The impact rattled his teeth, and the momentum sent Charles freewheeling through the air. Still moving Charles attacked Tom. Instinct was all that kept him oriented, his knees bending automatically to take the shock as he landed, leaving a trail of billowing dust as he slid to a stop. Tom's dark curse flew towards him at the same moment. Both curses slammed on an invisible wall that shook the foundations of the room.

"ENOUGH!" Dumbledore's powerful voice commanded, his wand in the air.

Charles landed in a defensive crunch and stayed there. Neither Charles nor Tom attacked again, but they did not leave their defensive post.

"Both of you," Dumbledore barked, "follow me."

Dumbledore turned around without waiting for a response and marched to his office. After a moment, Charles and Tom followed the enraged professor a few steps behind.

Charles glared at Tom and Tom glared back and pushed him hard enough that Charles bounced off the wall. Their silent scuffle continued all the way to Dumbledore's office

Dumbledore held the door open for both of them. The professor didn't fail to notice Charles' split lip or Tom's darkening eye. Dumbledore slammed the door once both boys entered, vowing to never leave them unattended even for the short walk to his office. Without saying a word he moved behind the desk and pointed to the two chairs in front of his desk. Stiffly, both boys sat.

Silence enfolded the room. Dumbledore took the moment to get a handle on his anger and to study both boys. While neither were looking at each other, they had at least stopped attacking. Under his watchful eye, the bruises that marred their skins lightened and disappeared. Taking with them all evidence of the fight. It was scary to think how powerful these two boys were. Sometimes the thought kept him up at night.

"Care to explain?" Dumbledore asked. Tom looked to a fixed point in the corner of the room and Charles to the floor. Neither seemed willing to break the silence.

Trying, and failing, to hide his irritation, Dumbledore held his silence for a few more moments. He was the first to break the silence. Experience has taught him that both boys could hold out their silence for hours.

"Mr Winter?" Dumbledore asked, looking at the boy over his half-moon spectacles. The boy made a huffing noise. To which Tom responded by sending him a sharp glare. The glare was responded with an eyebrow raise to which Tom responded by turning his head. Their silent conversation would have probably continued had not Dumbledore interrupted.

"Mr Riddle," Dumbledore received a glare for the surname, "explain why you were fighting."

Riddle only shrugged with one shoulder. Dumbledore cancelled his plans of a nice free morning and spent the next half-hour coxing them to talk.

"Do you know how it's like to live with someone who has absolutely no concept of personal boundaries?" Charles suddenly asked with clear irritation. His eyes still on Tom's.

"There's no need for boundaries because there's no need for you to keep secrets from me," Tom snapped, glaring at the boy.

"Do you even hear yourself?" Charles asked in disbelief. He looked at Dumbledore and his eyes clearly conveyed the silent message of: '_Do you see what I have to put up with?' _

Tom Riddle moved sharply and for a brief second his face twisted in agony before shutting down. Charles noticed it and his eyes immediately sharpened.

"Is it your left leg?" Charles asked, all traces of previous anger disappearing.

"It's nothing," Riddle responded sharply.

"Let me see," Charles insisted. With that Charles kneeled in front of Tom and carefully pulled his trouser up.

"I've told you not to practice without stretching," the blue-eyed boy chided mildly while his hands searched Tom's leg for sensitivity. The leg automatically flinched when Charles touched a sensitive area. Charles clicked in disapproval before carefully massaging the leg.

"It wasn't –"

"The kick?"

Tom nodded.

"You overextended."

They continued talking in hushed tones. Never needing more than a phrase or a gesture to understand each other. Dumbledore sighed in resignation; his presence had been completely forgotten, as the two boys got lost in their own world.

A minute ago they wanted to kill each other. And now? Now Charles was hovering over the Riddle boy like an overprotective chicken and soothing pains wherever he found them. Dumbledore was not sure what he was missing from the equation that made it impossible for him to understand their interactions. He ended up sending them away without punishment and downing a headache-relieving potion. Punishment meant having to spend more time with them, and truthfully, it was more punishment for him than for them.

* * *

><p>'<em>I am Lord Voldemort'<em> Tom wrote on the edge of the page. After countless of different combinations, he reached the perfect one. He felt a sense of satisfaction fill him like no other drug. For months he'd been looking for a name for himself and finally he found it.

"Voldemort," he whispered quietly. It rolled out of his tongue smoothly, like poison. It was perfect.

Charles curiously looked over from his own assignment to see what was absorbing Tom.

"Voldemort?" he repeated loudly and with much less reverence. Tom's left eye twitched in annoyance. The loud question brought Abraxas' attention to the conversation. "What's that?" Charles asked with his nose scrunched up.

Hesitantly, because this was important for him, Tom answered, "An anagram of my name."

For a moment Charles looked confused before his face cleared. "Flight from death?" Charles asked amusement colouring his voice. Immediately, Tom knew it had been a bad idea to share his brilliant creation. Charles and Abraxas shared a look before they exploded laughing. Tom's face coloured and darkened with slow burning rage.

It a high pitch wail, not unlike a woman's, Abraxas exclaimed, "Oh my _Lord_!" Before snickering.

"Don't mock it! This is a serious matter," Charles said seriously and Tom felt a bit of hope before it was ruthlessly crushed. "The Birds need a Lord as well." Tom had no idea how they jumped to birds, but if he knew anything about 'teasing' it was that it had no base in logic.

Abraxas snorted. "Lord of the Birds."

"Little birdy," Charles cooed before almost falling off his chair laughing. Abraxas gasping and holding his side. Tom's face darkened with rage.

"What Tom?" Abraxas asked, his face red, "Did someone _ruffle your feathers_?"

"Oh you are witty," Tom said sarcastically, his eyes promising a slow, torturous death. Sadly, neither boy had a self-preserving instinct and kept with the insults, each more ridiculous than the next.

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><p>In retrospect, Charles wasn't too surprised when he found himself, bound, gagged, and blindfolded on the deeps of the Black Lake. The ropes that bound him, seven to be precise, were unbreakable and the cave he was in complete darkness with the exception of tiny red numbers that were slowly counting down.<p>

When he dragged himself from the lake, panting, dripping wet and with algae tangled in his hair he decided to stay a few hours outside to cool down because if he entered the castle right now, no one would be able to stop him until he killed his dearest brother. It was only the knowledge that later, _much, much later_, _like years down the road_ he would regret killing Tom that calmed him. But he still debated with himself that a little regret later on was worth years of peace.

Charles entered the common room hours later, dry and with his uniform perfectly in place to find Tom sitting by the fire. Tom calmly looked up from the book he was reading to Charles' murderous glare.

"Oh don't be so dramatic, Charles dearest," Tom's voice was smooth and dark, filled with dark amusement, "it was just a little dip in the lake. Nothing but a friendly prank between brothers."

After two weeks of '_friendly pranks between brothers'_, things slowed down and on the third week things went back to normal to the eternal relief of their twitchy roommates. Tom never again considered changing his name. And Charles now regularly called him 'Birdie'… On the privacy of their own room or when Charles knew no one would overhear. He wasn't _that_ suicidal.

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><p><strong>AN** A small In-between chapter. Not really a chapter, just something short I wrote in between studying when I needed a break. It's nothing too serious and has no plot. A real, more serious chapter follows it. But after my finals in two weeks and then the time it takes me to write it. I just didn't want to make you guys wait so much to hear from me.

- Thank you all for all your reviews from last chapter and hope to hear your thoughts on this short "chapter". Did you like it? I had a lot of fun writing it.

- Do you prefer short chapter more frequently (as frequently as I can while not flunking med school) or long chapters with slow updates?


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